A/N: Written for a writing community 30 nights over at LiveJournal for a prompt 008 - One last date.
Warnings: not worksafe.
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and all related titles belong to Square Enix. This story was written for non-profit entertainment purposes and I claim no ownership of the characters. Please support the original creators by buying their production.
While Loz was outside, doing one final check-up on the converted children, Kadaj and Yazoo were together, sharing the last night before the deciding day. Tomorrow would come all too soon, it seemed now, and yet it couldn't come soon enough, Kadaj was certain. He couldn't wait, didn't want to wait even a little longer. And he chose to relieve his agitation right here, right now, with his brother. When Loz returned, he would, no doubt, want to be a part of it as well, and he would not be denied. But for the time being it was just the two of them.
Yazoo sighed and shivered from Kadaj's insistent touch, from the teeth pressing into the side of his neck. His little brother was so needy… Yazoo swallowed the chuckle which threatened to erupt from his chest, and turned it into a groan while reaching to undo his own zippers. Kadaj snickered next to his ear and ran a hand down his brother's chest, then back up again to play with Yazoo's nipples. His touches were hasty and rough, but he wasn't rushing the process – far from it. Kadaj seemed to be lost in thoughts while his hands moved on their own, tracing patterns on his brother's body, following memories of the previous times rather than intent. And Yazoo let himself be overruled by those absent-minded touches, that half-there presence, taking what was given to him because soon enough their positions would change with Kadaj taking everything he desired, everything that could substitute the feeling of being complete for one final night before his desires became fulfilled. Come tomorrow, he wouldn't need to cling to stray feelings like these anymore; he would have it all.
It would all end tomorrow. Or maybe everything would begin tomorrow. He was not sure. He didn't know. Mother didn't speak to him. She only sent him certain emotional hints which he had to interpret however he might. There was only a voice inside of him which strummed: tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…