Wordless Lessons

BY : Roaming_Firefly
Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Sephiroth/Vincent
Dragon prints: 1091
Disclaimer: Square Enix owns everything in Final Fantasy VII. I've only temporarily kidnapped their characters for fun and entertainment, I make no profit off them.

Author's Notes: This is a story that I've promised to a friend...a looooong time ago...ehehehe... XP The premise was: Father!Vincent/Son!Sephiroth incest. So yeah, please read the tons of warnings before continuing :P

Hope she likes it. ^^

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns everything in Final Fantasy VII. I've only temporarily kidnapped their characters for fun and entertainment, I make no profit off them, and they will be shortly released back into their original homes in more or less good condition :)

Warning: incest, corporeal punishment, mentions of non-consensual sex, mentions of child abuse, some depictions of violence, blood, minor character death


Wordless Lessons

The sound of water splashes echoed through the sparsely furnished room. Sephiroth tightened his jaw and firmly sat his resolve, determined to not give Vincent the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. Oh he knew what the older demon was doing. He knew it very well. Even though he could not see him from his position. And he knew that Vincent was taking his sweet time making his preparations on purpose, out of sight but within earshot, drawing it out, making more noise than was necessary, just to goad the silver half-angel. Instead Sephiroth choose to focus on the cool, smoothness of the tabletop that his naked torso was resting upon, the chill of the damp air wafting across his bare buttocks, and the hardness of the ground beneath his bare feet. He refused to picture in his minds eye, Vincent sitting beside a sink behind him, near, very near, enough that Sephiroth could hear each and every one of his quiet breaths. He refused to picture those pale, graceful, callused fingers running along the dark, firm surface of the older demon's weathered, heavy belt, as they ran it slowly, patiently through ice-cold water. He refused to dwell on his own knowledge of the cruel sting that said water adds to the already formidable belt. He refused to allow Vincent the satisfaction of knowing how much his psychological game was working.

Ah but Vincent would have that look on his face, that little frown, those gathered brows, the water reflecting the candlelight into his beautiful, brooding crimson eyes. He would be in his black leather work attire too, his favourite, and also Sephiroth's favourite. It had been with Vincent through many battles, big and small, and now fits him and moves with him like a second skin. Its well-thought-out design both providing secret pockets within which he hides the deadly tools of his trade, and accentuating the lethal grace of his tall, lean, work-hardened, body. In it, Vincent would glide through shadows, walk with darkness, and deliver silent judgement upon those misfortunate souls chosen to be his targets by the Archdaemon of Hell, Lord Chaos. And now this dark punisher was sitting behind the bent angel, silently and solemnly preparing his instrument of pain as he contemplated the pale canvas upon which he was to strum.

Sephiroth knew he rightly deserved what was coming, he'd been reckless, careless, and sloppy, and had likely caused his beloved father a hornet's nest worth of trouble. But he'd be damned if he showed any weakness, especially to him. If Vincent expected an easy submission from the young, headstrong, obstinate silver angel then Hell knows he had another thing coming.

Vincent resisted the urge to sigh as he looked over the prone form of his son, bent over the table before him. The young man had become quite good at concealing his nervousness in anticipation to his punishment. His breathing was calm, his heartbeat barely faster than normal, his muscles relaxed, and the slight goosebumps on his bare skin could easily have been passed off as the result of the cool air of the room. His hands were free, as were his feet. There were no tethers binding him down, for none was needed. The young man was far too proud to show pain and cowardice in trying to escape. Instead his defiance would come in the form of feigned indifference as he lay unmoving and unresponsive—as much as he could manage—through his ordeal.

If only he displayed such discipline and self-control in other parts of his life too. Vincent bit back another sigh.

He could not dismiss the fact that he was also partially responsible for Sephiroth's misbehaviour. Sephiroth has had to fight for his right to live since the very beginning, and one can't expect it to be easy to tell someone to give up those very behaviours and instincts that they had relied upon for their very survival for so many years.

And it was the older demon's fault, his careless that had caused the young half-demon such strive. Back then, he was young, arrogant. The group of angels—of which Sephiroth's mother was a member—were mere scholars, collecting various samples of flora and fauna for their research. But they in their passion for knowledge, forgot their surroundings and made the innocent yet fatal mistake of breeching the border between Heaven and Hell. Had no one seen them before they realized their mistake, they might have just ran back across the border safe and sound. But they were unfortunate.

Vincent had slaughtered them all. It was only expected. After all, they were angels who had trespassed into Hell, they would have been equally doomed had they ran into any other demon.

Well, except in the case of one small female.

Vincent could still remember vividly, how his younger self relished the carnage; how sweet to his ears were the sounds of those angels' terrified, gurgling screams, how easily their civilian flesh gave way under his savage claws! And when he looked upon the big frightened eyes, the long, rich, chestnut hair, and the soft ivory skin peeking out from the tattered white coat of the only female angel in the company, his blood pounding with the thrill of the kill, he did not hesitate to claim his prize. It was his right after all. The male angel with the oily black hair and the round spectacles was evidently her prospective mate. Rather a weak choice by his reckoning. And having dispatched of him so easily and savagely before the little female's eyes, surely she would welcome the embrace of such a stronger, more dominant male. And yet she didn't. She sobbed and screamed and even, in his slight distraction in his moment of bliss, punched him square in the nose. Dumbfounded and stunned, he could only watch as the small female somehow managed to put forth a burst of magic that bounced off his chest but knocked her quite a bit of distance away from him, and then scrambled and tumbled on her trembling limbs and disheveled wings across the border back to Heaven.

And Vincent could only scratch his head in confusion, and file away her strange behaviour into the back of his mind as another quirk of angels that he probably should investigate if he wished to become one of Chaos' elite Shadow Walkers, and then he went on with his life. It was not until several years later that that incident came back to bite him in the ass—HARD.

Chaos had sent him to investigate some suspicious activities of the angels living in the mountains close to their western border, and his investigations led him to a small orphanage that sat some distance away from the main angel town. At first the building seemed nothing extraordinary, but Vincent's sharp eyes and sensitive, well-trained ears soon picked up telltale signs and sounds, and easily uncovered secret passages and doors that led into a dark, fortified basement.

And there he saw him. Silent and hidden in the shadows among the ceiling supports, Vincent found himself looking down into the haunting bright green eyes of a child—his child. Though the child's eye- and hair-colour matched neither Vincent's nor the small female angel's, Vincent instantly recognized his son for who he was. And the boy too, was staring right back at him. How the boy had sensed the elite assassin's presence, Vincent did not know. But he knew that the boy had also sensed the bond between them, even though he was likely too young and too inexperienced to recognize what exactly was it that he felt.

Given how much the angels despised half-bloods, for they considered them a unforgivable stain on their holy purity, Vincent was amazed that they'd have allowed one to live—and for so long. But then again, angels were notorious in their stubborn insistence to preserve 'life', all life, however illogical it seemed to demons. Demons highly valued strength and competence. Useless or destructive burdens on their society were spared no coddling. If a demon mother were to find a serious defect in her newborn, then she herself would deliver the swift end to the seedling life even as the afterbirth still lay drying on the ground. Angels however, will go to great lengths to preserve the lives of even the most hopeless, catatonic infants; willing to feed huge amounts of resources into the weak, flickering embers of life, practically forcing them to keep on existing, all the while knowing full well that the dim, dying sparks will never grow to give back the warmth they received.

Keeping the children alive, however, didn't always mean alive and well—as evident by the scene before Vincent's eyes. Right now, his son was being held down on a metallic examination table with thick leather belts around his arms, legs, torso, and head. Around him, adult angels in lab coats tinkered with machines and sharp medical tools. Along the far wall, heavy cages were stacked upon each other and tucked into the shadows; and suspicious, smallish forms quivered and spasmed within them.

A cold, tapping sound quickly brought the young half-angel's eyes away from Vincent and towards one of those lab-coated adults, who was brandishing a large needle filled with some kind of glowing green liquid, and was slowly advancing towards the helpless child. Goosebumps rose on the child's too-pale skin as the muscles beneath it tensed and stiffened. Though the child remained still, the demon assassin could not have missed the silent fear and despair in those bright, green eyes. Nor could he have missed the sadistic glee in the angel scientists'. And that was the first time in his life that Vincent had so completely and utterly lost control.

It was an extremely foolish and impulsive thing to do. Had his presence in Heaven been exposed then there was a lot more than his life that he could have lost. And had he said that he had torn through all those angels like so many old rags, while suffering nary a scratch on himself, then it'd be a boastful lie. But he was not one of Chaos' elites for nothing. Even in his rage he took care to make sure that there wouldn't be any evidence left that pointed to a demon's doing. Luckily it wasn't very difficult, with the angels "helping" him with the fortification and soundproofing of the basement and their dirty little secret lab and all. And he made doubly sure that every last person in the building was well and truly killed.

Well, every person except for one.

And there the Shadow Walker stood, face to face with his son, unsure of what to do next. The most logical choice would be to kill the boy. He was the only witness left. And what records Vincent could find in the building all stated that the boy's mother was long dead. Even if she were alive, it was not like a demon could just comb through Heaven for one single woman and hand the child back to her. If he tried that, the most likely scenario would be he getting himself and also the little angel killed, and the boy getting stuffed back into another institution just like this one. And the boy was just as likely to die if he took him back to Hell with him. Demon society had no trouble accepting half-bloods—they considered new blood in the gene pool to be a source of renewal and strength. But for one who had lived in Heaven since birth, and for so many years, no doubt many will question his loyalty to Hell and his ability to fit into demon society with demon instincts and demon values. Chaos may well judge the boy to be too much a liability and order his execution anyway.

Yes killing the boy right here, right now, quickly, efficiently, and painlessly, would be the most logical, most sensible, and most merciful choice. Yet the demon assassin found himself rooted to the spot, unable to carry out the kill. And the boy, still strapped helplessly on the examination table, surrounded by the savaged remains of what had just moments ago been his entire world, only silently stared at the dark grim reaper before him. In the boy's eyes Vincent had expected to find tears, or fear, or resignation, or even hatred. But to his amazement, none were present in those hauntingly beautiful green eyes. Instead, those eyes burned with defiance—defiance in the face of his would-be executioner, defiance in the face of fate. And that was the second time in his life that Vincent had utterly lost control of his better judgement.

His claws flashed before him, cutting away the boy's leather shackles almost as if they were controlled by a mind that was not his own. And he bent down to the boy's eye level and gave him a choice: die right here—and Vincent swears that he will be able to make it quick and painless, or live with Vincent in Hell. If he chose to go with Vincent, his life and his safety, and his happiness, can not be guaranteed. But Vincent would give him the highest oath that a demon can give that he will not allow him to be locked up and experimented on ever again.

At first, uncertainty flashed in those young, green orbs, and the demon assassin thought the young boy might choose the easier path. Heaven and Hell had been at war with each other for a very, very long time. Even trapped in this dark, stoney basement, the boy was sure to have heard many things about Hell—none of it good, Vincent would wager. And the dark, crouching specter reflected in those mirror-like green eyes, clad from head to toe with black and crimson, leather and blood—his own included, was certain to be a most comforting sight. But when a small, thin, pale hand reached forward and grasped his offered, bloodied claw, Vincent knew in that instant that his own fate had been sealed. From this day on he would never, ever be free of Sephiroth ever again—not if he could help it.

It didn't mean the ride afterwards was smooth of course. Although Chaos took a quick liking to the boy and accepted him into his realm easily enough—much to Vincent's surprise and relief—Sephiroth had had a lot of trouble staying out of trouble at first. Obstinate wild-child former lab-rat that he was. And Vincent had never entertained any delusions that he might one day win a Father of the _ award. But years of hard work on both their parts was now finally seeming to bear some fruit...and then the impulsive brat just had to go and stick a sword through Old Shinra's back!

Vincent tested the wet, heavy belt in his palm with a resounding SMACK!

It's not that he regretted the old pompous bastard's passing one single bit. Not many people did. And that was the only reason why Sephiroth was here, free, sentenced to submit to his Shadow Walker father's disciplining by order of Lord Chaos, instead of being trussed like a pig and locked in some dungeon somewhere—or worse.

It was a small victory for Sephiroth that he didn't give any outward reaction at the sound of the belt being tested against his father's palm. But it was no time for celebration. His heart rate rose treacherously when he felt his father stand up, and steadily increased with each footstep that his father took as he came closer and closer, until the older demon finally stopped just behind him, his wrath radiating off of him like a dark, heavy shroud. Sephiroth stubbornly held up his facade of indifference, no matter how futile he knew it was. Part of him hated the fact that he was no longer a child yet Vincent could still so easily invoke such a reaction from him. Part of him admired the fact that Vincent always could invoke such a reaction from him. No one else had ever been able to make him submit, not even those twisted scientists that had tormented him in his childhood.

Droplets of icy water dribbled onto his bare behind. A slight, wafting breeze brushing upon sensitized skin told him that Vincent's heavy leather belt was now gently rocking back and forth right above his vulnerable cheeks. Vincent was good, very good at what he does.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" came the soft, low voice of the older demon.

"Just get on with it." growled Sephiroth.

CRACK! A line of fire instantly flared up across the prone angel's rear. The young male barely choked back a grunt. Hounds, how it stung! Hell knows he was no novice to pain, yet what is that black magic that Vincent put into that belt!

"Very well." said Vincent in his ever-quiet voice, and the well-worn leather belt arched across the air with a dark whisper of promise, and landed mercilessly onto the silver angel's naked ass.

CRACK! At the first strike Sephiroth almost let out a hiss. CRACK! The second he managed to keep himself still. CRACK! The third he stoically took. CRACK! The fourth had him struggling for control. Already his fast-reddening cheeks were quivering and clenching under the cruel admonishment of the belt. Sephiroth forced his body to relax between each strike in order to lessen the pain that sank into his flesh. But soon the strikes came faster and faster, harder and harder, until the residual sting from each strike carried over to the next, and the next, and the next, feeding savagely into the fiery agony of each subsequent strike, relentlessly building, and building, and building, and building, scalding him with hellfire across the entire length of his defenseless ass and thighs. Sephiroth gritted his teeth hard in order to stop the cries that threatened to bubble from his throat, and stubbornly willed his body to stay still. But the older demon was wise to his ploys, and was as unforgiving and unstoppable as a winter storm.


The strikes fell, fast and furious, one after another, all onto the exact same patch of abused flesh. The half-angel bucked and hissed, writhing in a futile attempt to direct the next blow somewhere else, anywhere else. And then one sharp, brutal strike, catching the punished angel mercilessly right where he was most tender, finally drove out the willful young man's first proper cry.

"Down." ordered Vincent sternly as he gave the lifted shoulders a warning swat, and Sephiroth grudgingly but obediently adjusted his sore body back into position, furious at himself for letting Vincent break his control so easily. Vincent took a moment to re-wet the belt, and the punishment resumed once more.

Seconds melded into minutes, minutes into eternity; sharp sounds of punished flesh rang through the room and bounced unceasingly off the empty walls. Sephiroth's flesh quivered in rhythmic misery under the force of each strike, and short sounds of pain burst past his defiant throat in ever increasing frequency. The whooshing of the belt being swung, alone, now caused his muscles to tense and clench uncontrollably, knowing full well the agony that would soon follow. Yet Vincent only drove mercilessly on. He was truly angry this time, like he hadn't been since the first time he disciplined Sephiroth this way, the first time the stubborn, headstrong boy had put himself in such mortal danger. But he was only a child then, and Vincent had held back then, and also every time since then. But now, Sephiroth was an adult by Hell's standards, and Vincent could not tell whether he was more disappointed at Sephiroth, or at himself as a father and teacher that the stubborn half-demon would do something this reckless, this stupid again. He would not hold back this time. This will not be a lesson that the impulsive young man will soon forget.

The heavy belt sang through the air with malevolent shrill; CRACK! The flinch-inducing sound reverberated across the tiny room. The silver half-angel arched his back and screamed, then collapsed limply onto the tabletop.

Vincent froze, stunned. He was sure that he hadn't been doing anything that would cause Sephiroth any true damage. But the prideful young man had never screamed like that before. And now he was curling slightly into himself, his body slightly quivering and his chest conspicuously lacking the rise and fall that should be accompanying his breaths. In a heartbeat Vincent was bent over his son, trying franticly to get a good look at his face. But Sephiroth had his face completely hidden between his two outstretched arms, and what little of his face that Vincent could see was an alarming shade of red. Adult or not, strong or not, being on the receiving end of the full, wrathful force of a Shadow Walker was no small matter. A hundred images of ghastly injuries, possible or not, ran through Vincent's head as he softly called out his son's name, praying silently and desperately that he had not, in his anger, gone too far.

Finally, slowly, Sephiroth breathed out again, and Vincent suddenly found himself being practically assaulted by Sephiroth's scent! And before Vincent could draw back in surprise, a hot, burning ass shoved itself brazenly into the older demon's crotch.

Vincent's eyes widened in outrage. The wily little SHIT! Trying to get out of his punishment, pulling something like this! Yet he could not help but admit that he fell for it, completely and totally. And now his entire body was almost humming with need! His cock stood hard and swollen, trapped between his own abdomen and the radiating heat of Sephiroth's muscular, undulating ass.

Fine. Vincent growled. If Sephiroth wished to play, then they'll play. The older demon mercilessly gripped the half-angel's bruised, tender cheeks in his iron claws and forced them apart, revealing the little hole that was fast becoming moistened with Sephiroth's arousal. Vincent's own cock was already slick with his natural body oils, and he wasted no time shoving himself hard into that defiant ass.

Sephiroth's punished flesh throbbed and burned beneath Vincent's claws, and his tight, soft orifice convulsed wildly at the sudden entry. Vincent gave no time to the squirming body to adjust, and rammed into the younger demon fast and hard—just the way he knew the young half-demon liked. Soon enough, Sephiroth's body was shivering with orgasmic high, and Vincent allowed himself to release deep into that pulsing passage. But he was not done with Sephiroth yet.

The older demon pulled himself out slowly, until only the tip remained inside the angel. A line of pearly liquid trickled out of the angel's reddened and stretched sphincter, and Vincent paused for a moment to watch it run down between Sephiroth's bruised cheeks and welted thighs, before pushing in again, slowly.

Sephiroth groaned at the agonizingly slow entry and the teasing brush against his prostate. He shifted his hips, trying to get a better angle and trying to make Vincent go faster, but Vincent only firmly held him down as he continued the slow, gentle assault. And so the angel endured thrust after snail-like thrust, his own cock long since brought back to full life, throbbing and dripping with need, yet Vincent never increased his speed in the slightest, and never ceased to tease—never allowing the young male respite and yet never giving him enough to tip him over that ecstatic edge. He could take care of it himself of course; his hands were free. But he understood that he wasn't quite pardoned from his punishment yet, and also, he trusted that in the end, Vincent would make both their patience worth while. Very much worth while.

Vincent carefully maintained the steadiness of his breathing; it helped him with keeping his control and keeping his slow pace, but it was getting harder now. Sephiroth was quite obviously approaching his limit, the young man was now groaning and shivering with each thrust, and his hips struggled to move under Vincent's iron claws. It was incredibly arousing to not only watch the effects that his ministrations had on the young half-demon, but also to feel the rhythmic grips of appreciation and desperation deep inside the young, lithe body. And all the while Sephiroth's hands remained outstretched obediently on the table. Though his knuckles were white from gripping the other end, there was nothing holding those hands there, safe for the young half-demon's trust and submission to Vincent's will. It was sooo very tempting to grant the beautiful half-angel his release right then and there. So very tempting indeed.

"Vincent..." a choked whisper finally pushed past Sephiroth's obstinate will.

"Hmm..?" Vincent answered lazily, then deviously leaned down to place a kiss on a spot right between Sephiroth's shoulder-blades.

A shiver ran down the pale, well-toned back, and the tortured half-angel groaned.

"Father...!" louder now, with a clearer note of pleading.

Vincent only grinned and nibbled teasingly along Sephiroth's flushed neck and shoulders, "What have I taught you about manners, Sephiroth?"

With a groan and a twist of his supple body, Sephiroth turned to glare right at his father with his beautiful, piercing green eyes. His long, silver hair flowed gracefully across his shoulders with the movement, and splayed soft and shimmering all about his gleaming, aroused body. A small devious smirk, barely concealed, almost mocking, danced on his soft, full lips, and the seductive, dark angel purred: "Please...daddy..."

Wily, rebellious brat! But then again, it'd not be his beloved Sephiroth otherwise, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Vincent returned the smirk before capturing those lips with his own. His talons tightened on that hot, tendered ass, his body rammed into that sensitive bundle of nerves with a savagery rivaled only by Sephiroth's cries and their battling lips and tongues. Two pairs of wings, one crimson and bat-like, one black and feathered, snapped out in the pulse of orgasmic energy, and together the winged ones fell, panting and moaning, greedily devouring each other's sounds of ecstasy.

The aftercare was one of the things that Sephiroth enjoyed the most—secretly, of course. As usual, Vincent had carefully cleaned the young half-demon's tender skin with a warm wash-cloth, and as usual, his strong, capable hands where gently massaging the bruised flesh with a pleasantly cool ointment that dissolved the sharp edge of pain into a warm, throbbing numbness. But this time, Sephiroth could tell that Vincent's mind wasn't completely on his task. The older demon was brooding.

Not that Vincent had ever been particularly happy immediately after Sephiroth's punishments—not like those scientists, who had always basked in their twisted satisfaction at having exercised their power over the helpless child. But Vincent was also never this solemn, or this silent before either.

Perhaps he shouldn't have pulled that trick on the Vincent. But Sephiroth had never had to endure his Shadow Walker father's full strength before. The older demon did not know how close he came to breaking Sephiroth's will. Although Sephiroth trusted Vincent to never truly cause him injury, this time, he was truly close to resorting to pleading—and the prideful young male would sooner fall on his own sword than appear a blubbering weakling before his beloved father. But perhaps Vincent thought that he might have really hurt Sephiroth this time. Perhaps he did not have as much confidence in his own skill and self-control as Sephiroth had for him. The older demon was strong, but also very vulnerable in some rather unexpected ways. And he worried. Constantly worried. Sephiroth fidgeted slightly in guilt at the thought. At his movement, those gentle hands on his sensitive skin paused in their ministrations, and a whispered "sorry..." brushed upon the young male's ears, and then those hands resumed their tending to him with an even more gentle touch—which only made the young half-demon feel even more guilty.

"Vincent...I'm fine..." began Sephiroth.

"You could have been VERY far from 'fine', this very moment, had only a few things been different." Vincent cut him off angrily, "Had Heidegger been smarter, Palmer less of a sniveling coward, or Scarlet more loyal... Had any of the powerful families that had been his supporters spoken out against you... Had either Rufus or Lazard pursued the matter...pinned you as a half-blood with questionable upbringing and therefore uncertain loyalties, then you would be lying on the executioner's block right now instead of here in your own bed!"

Sephiroth's face coloured and his green eyes flashed, and with careful movements, turned to face his father, "Vincent, I know I've done some very stupid things as a child, but I am not a child anymore! I knew full well what I was doing!"

"You knew full well what you were doing when you snuck into Shinra mansion, alone and without so much as leaving me a note, burned down the entire Shinra villa, and ran a sword through the old man himself? The old man had been undermining Lord Chaos' rule for decades, and the Archdaemon himself had never made such a bold move against him! What reason could you possibly have to think that you could?"

"I knew that Lord Chaos has been undermining Shinra's power also, secretly—with your help." Sephiroth rebutted angrily, quietly, "I knew that with your work in the shadows, he had successfully shifted Shinra's major supporters gradually over to his side over the years, and those include the Reeve family, the Strife Clan, as well as the Airship Mechanics' Guild. I knew that Shinra was the only demon fool enough to throw away the loyalty and support of his own clan, thinking its importance only secondary to the rest of his vast business empire, because I've known Lazard and Tseng—Rufus's tutor and actual caretaker since old Shinra himself never really bothered, since junior youth academy! ...And those blond-haired bastards are likely much more interested in seeing me getting my ass thrashed by you than in getting any sort of 'justice' for their 'loving' father..." the young half-demon added under his breath.

Hearing that, Vincent could only sit and stare, stunned, at his son. Yes, he had been preparing Sephiroth for a possible future as a Shadow Walker, following in his footsteps. But because of the nature of his work, he had not shared a vast majority of the sensitive information that he worked with with his son. Sephiroth had so far only been given some menial, clerical work as part of his training. To think the impulsive, prideful young man had been able to look past the seemingly meaningless, chore-like tasks, and be able to gleam this much information from those seemingly insignificant numbers and names...and all on his own! No he had never once doubted Sephiroth's natural intelligence, ever, but his own younger, arrogant self would have readily dismissed such clerical work as useless, had his teacher at the time not pointed their significance out to him. And he thought that Lazard and Tseng and Sephiroth hated each other and frequently fought during junior youth academy. Somehow, somewhere along the way, unbeknownst to him in his mad juggling as assassin and spy and protector and father, these three restless boys seemed to have become close friends of some sort... And Sephiroth had grown into a finer, wiser young man than he could rightfully take credit for. ...But even so, there was still a rather significant chance that Sephiroth could have ended up on the executioner's block.

"But Shinra had not yet been fully neutralized," said Vincent quietly, "your underestimation of him could have cost you dearly. There were still a number of his major supporters whose loyalties Chaos and I weren't completely sure of. And the way you attacked him was sloppy, leaving evidence everywhere. The old fox could have disposed of you himself had you been any less skilled—or less lucky."

The colour on Sephiroth's elegant cheekbones grew deeper, in embarrassment this time.

"I was rash, I'll not argue that. I...I lost control. It was inexcusable. I know it was reckless to try to sneak into his mansion. I know I shouldn't have went like that...behind your back... It's just that...you've been giving me nothing but simple, clerical tasks... I wanted to show you that I can do more... But...not even I imagined that I could have snuck so far into Shinra's mansion, would overhear so much, would catch him right in the middle of plotting to murder you. He noticed what Chaos has been doing, Vincent, and he found out that you were responsible for carrying out most of Chaos' plans against him. And hearing that plan of his...it was actually quite ingenious, it could have worked! I...I forgot myself then. I'm sorry father, I should have been more disciplined, better controlled..."

The young half-demon glanced uncertainly at his father, and seeing him unmoving, quickly added: "I didn't overlook anything else...I think... I took extra care to get rid of all of Shinra's other lackeys who might have known about the murder plot, and I've tracked down those who leaked information about you; they won't be able to try anything against you anymore...that I am certain of. I've all the details of the day and many of Shinra's paperwork memorized if you wish to go over them and see if I've been sloppy elsewhere..."

Another glance up and Vincent was still not responding, and Sephiroth really began to worry.




Finally, Vincent blinked, and moved as if to say something, only to stop again. If was not until many seconds later that he cleared his throat and tried again.

"Sephiroth, you...you fought...for me? In the middle of Shinra's villa... Against all of his guards..." the older demon paused again, "...And you...tracked down potential threats for me?"

"Of course," Sephiroth furrowed his silver brows in confusion as he studied the strange expression on his father's usually stoic face, "why would I not? You've been doing a fair amount of eliminating and bribing for me too, have you not?"

"You...you knew about that? ...Ah, of course you do... But..." Vincent looked down at his hands as he asked quietly, "don't you...don't you hate me? Not even a little? What I did to your mother...what I did to you..."

Now it was Sephiroth's turn to sit silent and staring at his father. Then, with a sigh and a swift move that the distracted Shadow Walker didn't quite catch, Vincent found himself lying on his back on Sephiroth's bed, with said young man straddling him in all his naked, silver glory.

"Oh yes, you owe me, you owe me very much indeed." the silver half-demon smirked down at the older demon as he firmly and efficiently trapped Vincent's hands in his own, strong ones. "And I shall show you just how much you owe me, etch it all over your body, exactly how I feel about you, right this very night," the young man growled teasingly as he used his knee to roughly nudge open Vincent's leather-clad thighs, "I shall make it slow, very slow... ...And deep. So you will not be missing anything I say," the silver angel leaned down and purred seductively in Vincent's ear, "Nor will you ever forget." and with that, he sealed Vincent's gaping mouth with a deep, playfully forceful kiss.

Vincent could only give a little defeated chuckle, before the older demon relaxed and opened up his willing body to the radiant dark-angel above him.

Yes, Sephiroth was an adult now, perhaps he should be given tests better suited to his evidently quite advanced abilities. Perhaps it's time that Vincent let go of some of his own fears and insecurities. Perhaps it's time he forfeit some trust to his son, as a young man who's able to stand and protect himself with his own strength. But intelligent and capable as Sephiroth was, it was clear that the silver angel was not meant to walk in shadows. He belonged in the light. Perhaps tomorrow he should talk to Chaos about enlisting Sephiroth in Hell's army. The young man was sure to thrive in such an environment. He was a powerful fighter, disciplined, strong-willed, and observant. Though he still had many weaknesses and still had a lot to learn, life in the army was sure to only hone Sephiroth's potential into something truly formidable. And if the young half-demon were to earn a name for himself as a warrior, a leader, or perhaps even a hero of Hell's army, then he would be able to truly stand on his own, be able to defend his own rights, his own place in demon society, no longer needing to worry about petty slander on his unconventional origins, no longer needing to be constantly wrapped in his father's protective, yet smothering shadows...even though Vincent couldn't help but feel a touch of melancholy at these thoughts.

Ah, but it was apparent that he would not be able to dwell on such thoughts in depth in the immediate future, Vincent realized with a soft sigh as Sephiroth bit with just the right amount of force at just the right spot between his neck and shoulder. He will have to continue his line of thought, whatever it was—later.


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