Break Down
folder
Final Fantasy VII › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
882
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Final Fantasy VII › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
882
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
3
Chapter 3
“He’s not as harmless as he looks sir. I should warn you that.....”
“I suggest you keep your warnings to yourself,” the general ground out. “I am not one of your useless, pathetic men. You think that I would allow myself to get injured by such a....such a.....” He paused, looking down again at the unmoving form sat huddled on the cold slate floor, the manacled wrists bound by chains attached to the solid stone wall behind him being the only thing keeping the boy from falling completely on his face. “...such an insignificant little whelp,” Sephiroth sneered.
“I tell you sir, he’s dangerous,” the commander insisted, the reputation of his men at stake. “If the Arbettor hadn’t been used.....”
The general gazed upon the pitiful figure at his feet, light amusement in his eyes.
“This? This is what defeated some of the best Soldiers that Shin-Ra has to offer?” he asked, the disbelief in his voice plain to hear. “Surely you jest with me?”
A soft moan, and a slight twitch of cramped muscles, indicated that the dazed prisoner was alert once more. The commander’s grip on the cane tightened.
“Ah, I see our guest has decided to awaken and join us,” the general said, a touch of complacently in his smooth voice. “Feeling comfortable are we? All your needs being taken care of satisfactorily?”
Head still bowed, a single forceful word came out of the captives mouth.
“Prick!”
The commander stepped forward, raising the cane high in the air, ready to strike.
“That won’t be necessary,” the general said, holding up a hand and waylaying the descent of the blow. “Yet!”
Grudgingly lowering his arm, yet still holding the cane threateningly, ready to use at the slightest show of provocation from the captive, the commander watched silently as the general squatted down in front of the prisoner, resting easily and confidently on the balls of his feet, just inches away from the restrained boy.
Sephiroth laced black gloved fingers through the gore matted blond hair before him, and violently yanked the lowered head up, staring into brilliant blue, intelligent eyes. The boy had clamped his lips shut to keep from crying out at the pain that shot through his skull, and the general increased the tight hold he had, shaking the boys head side to side, making him close his eyes and winch in pain even more.
“Look at you, lying there,” Sephiroth said, speaking to the boy. “You’re not even a proper soldier. You’re pathetic. You’re nothing. I could crush you with one hand.”
The blue eyes opened again, and a scowl graced the mouth of the small prisoner, before he took a deep breath and spat at the taunting man in front of him.
The reward for his bravado was more pain, as the hold on his head was released and the general backhanded him, the soft leather of the mans covered hand offering no protection from the stinging blow. The boy tasted blood from his newly split lip.
The commander was itching for the general to step aside, to teach the prisoner proper respect for his betters, but Sephiroth didn’t allow him the opportunity.
Standing back up to his impressive tall height, the boy’s weary eyes watching him all the way, the general slowly raised a hand to his face and wiped off the spittle that was trailing down over one cheek. He looked at the watery fluid for a moment, as if studying it, before a tiny smile creased the corners of his lips.
“Whatever you think you can throw at me, boy.....Humph....I can take.”
His movements deliberate and controlled, the general proceeded to put his hand to his mouth, opening his lips and sticking his fingers inside, licking the glove clean.
The boy stared up at his captor defiantly, his body tensed and poised, waiting for the beating he felt sure would follow such an insult. He wanted to get beaten. He deserved to get hurt, for he had been captured on what should have been a simple and easy spying mission. And he had no ideal about the fate of his comrades.
But he knew one thing, as he watched his spittle being eaten. He knew that this was no ordinary man standing in front of him. And for the first time, he felt fear.
“He’s not as harmless as he looks sir. I should warn you that.....”
“I suggest you keep your warnings to yourself,” the general ground out. “I am not one of your useless, pathetic men. You think that I would allow myself to get injured by such a....such a.....” He paused, looking down again at the unmoving form sat huddled on the cold slate floor, the manacled wrists bound by chains attached to the solid stone wall behind him being the only thing keeping the boy from falling completely on his face. “...such an insignificant little whelp,” Sephiroth sneered.
“I tell you sir, he’s dangerous,” the commander insisted, the reputation of his men at stake. “If the Arbettor hadn’t been used.....”
The general gazed upon the pitiful figure at his feet, light amusement in his eyes.
“This? This is what defeated some of the best Soldiers that Shin-Ra has to offer?” he asked, the disbelief in his voice plain to hear. “Surely you jest with me?”
A soft moan, and a slight twitch of cramped muscles, indicated that the dazed prisoner was alert once more. The commander’s grip on the cane tightened.
“Ah, I see our guest has decided to awaken and join us,” the general said, a touch of complacently in his smooth voice. “Feeling comfortable are we? All your needs being taken care of satisfactorily?”
Head still bowed, a single forceful word came out of the captives mouth.
“Prick!”
The commander stepped forward, raising the cane high in the air, ready to strike.
“That won’t be necessary,” the general said, holding up a hand and waylaying the descent of the blow. “Yet!”
Grudgingly lowering his arm, yet still holding the cane threateningly, ready to use at the slightest show of provocation from the captive, the commander watched silently as the general squatted down in front of the prisoner, resting easily and confidently on the balls of his feet, just inches away from the restrained boy.
Sephiroth laced black gloved fingers through the gore matted blond hair before him, and violently yanked the lowered head up, staring into brilliant blue, intelligent eyes. The boy had clamped his lips shut to keep from crying out at the pain that shot through his skull, and the general increased the tight hold he had, shaking the boys head side to side, making him close his eyes and winch in pain even more.
“Look at you, lying there,” Sephiroth said, speaking to the boy. “You’re not even a proper soldier. You’re pathetic. You’re nothing. I could crush you with one hand.”
The blue eyes opened again, and a scowl graced the mouth of the small prisoner, before he took a deep breath and spat at the taunting man in front of him.
The reward for his bravado was more pain, as the hold on his head was released and the general backhanded him, the soft leather of the mans covered hand offering no protection from the stinging blow. The boy tasted blood from his newly split lip.
The commander was itching for the general to step aside, to teach the prisoner proper respect for his betters, but Sephiroth didn’t allow him the opportunity.
Standing back up to his impressive tall height, the boy’s weary eyes watching him all the way, the general slowly raised a hand to his face and wiped off the spittle that was trailing down over one cheek. He looked at the watery fluid for a moment, as if studying it, before a tiny smile creased the corners of his lips.
“Whatever you think you can throw at me, boy.....Humph....I can take.”
His movements deliberate and controlled, the general proceeded to put his hand to his mouth, opening his lips and sticking his fingers inside, licking the glove clean.
The boy stared up at his captor defiantly, his body tensed and poised, waiting for the beating he felt sure would follow such an insult. He wanted to get beaten. He deserved to get hurt, for he had been captured on what should have been a simple and easy spying mission. And he had no ideal about the fate of his comrades.
But he knew one thing, as he watched his spittle being eaten. He knew that this was no ordinary man standing in front of him. And for the first time, he felt fear.