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Terminal Lust	By : killer34 Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 968 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Final Fantasy VII franchise and I make no money from the publication of this narrative.

Chapter List
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“She's going to die! What the hell is wrong that you can't see that!?” the Turk screamed. Hojo's body tensed. While he admittedly hadn't expected the extent of the physiological effects to reach as far as they had, everyone had known since the animal trials that the cell therapy and Mako stabilization treatments wouldn't be a fucking picnic. Still... that wasn't really the issue at hand here. He turned to face his accuser.
“Is that your professional opinion, Valentine?” he said icily.
Vincent appeared taken aback by the response. “Do you even give a damn about her?”
Hojo wasn't certain if he'd been anticipating or dreading this confrontation – he'd known, however, that it had long been inevitable. Now that it appeared before him, in all its hackneyed, mawkish and messy splendor, he couldn't help but feel ridiculous. This was the sort of exchange that happened in summer blockbusters. He could only be grateful that they weren't in the rain.
He paused a moment before retorting, not wanting to give the hero of this turgid morality play the benefit of any explanation or exposition. When he spoke, his voice was low and his demeanor soft.
“Do you, Valentine?”
Vincent looked surprised at both his tone and his question, but his anger wasn't interrupted. Before he could reply, the scientist continued.
“What's her favorite film?”
The young man threw his hands in the air. “What the hell is the matter with you!?”
Hojo moved forward, eyes locked with his quarry.
“I didn't think you'd know. It's okay. La Mort de Belle was pretentious schlock... but I'm not one to comment on the course of true love. Why don't you go back to telling me how much you care for my wife?”
“This is serious, Hojo! ”
Another step closed between them
“This is preposterous. ” His words remained subdued and matter of fact. “Do you want to save her, Valentine? Talk to her, not me. Self-determination is a quality I happen to admire in my women. ”
“She'll listen to you. Please... don't make this into one of your fucking head games.”
Anger was giving way to desperation. Hojo continued the advance.
“Games?” He smiled mockingly. “Fine. No games. Let me be straight with you.”
There was barely a foot between them now. They stood face to face as the scholar began his dissertation.
“This isn't about saving her, Valentine. Let's not kid ourselves. This is about saving yourself. You're a self-absorbed masochist who unapologetically kills innocent people for a living and you've managed to convince yourself that through some miraculous happenstance, the power of love will redeem you. Not just any love either, you sick fuck... unrequited love... selfless love... love that begins and ends with you!”
His fists clenched. He was only half aware that he was shouting.
“You're “concern” for my wife? You know what it is!? It's a way you can strangle yourself without feeling like the maladaptive pervert you are!”
Vincent punched him. He didn't resist. He expected violence – that was the way conversations like this evolved. The taste of copper flooded through his mouth and he smiled. No backing off now.
“You're not in love with Lucrecia Crescent. You're in love with an abstract - a construct... a half-imagined Madonna your mind has imprinted upon her person such as that you can be redeemed. ”
“At least I want to be redeemed!”
Hojo reached a shaking hand toward his partner, unsurprised to have the gesture met with another blow, this time to the gut. As he doubled over, he reached for his revolver, his hand grazing over the hardening bulge in his pants as it made its way to the holster.
“She isn't much of a Madonna, by the by, “ he half-gasped, half-whispered.
“I still get my needs met.”
A blur of motion and what seemed a thousand years later, a gunshot echoed through the mansion. When she came upon them, face pale and eyes bloodshot, he didn't know what to do save laugh. Tragedy was clean, goddammit – restless, flawless and all manner of other absurdities.
The fact it had been self-defense was just another flourish, an unexpected and totally irrelevant detail which he knew it was futile to shed light upon. The sobs which wracked her body were but a slick complement and counterpoint to the mania which gripped him. The gun slipped from his hand. Time for things to fall apart.
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