No Choice

BY : MintFlavoured
Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Sephiroth/Vincent
Dragon prints: 4213
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any characters etc from this universe. I make no money from this.

AN: I bring another sick, twisted sequel. This one contains attempted suicide, so I warn you of it now. I had this fic 90% written for several years now, but I felt encouraged to post it after a quick chat with someone on Tumblr (you know who you are ; ) ). So either sorry, or thanks, lol.


   He knew he was being driven, he knew he was being steered somewhere. He was lost in a whirlpool of hazy sensations for several days, finding his own body acting on someone else’s orders. It was frightening to be at the control of a sinister power, hidden from view but quite obviously observing from a distant psychic link. He would lose an hour or so of time some days, jerking back into the forefront of his mind to discover he had traveled several miles from his last location. It scared him, and Vincent Valentine was no so easily scared. But in the previous months, he had come to realize he was caught in a version of Hell. He had once convinced himself he needed to atone for the sins of his past, but had slowly come to terms with the fact that he could never have changed anything, and he needed to let go. Not so long ago, he had finally begun to find peace with himself.

   Now, he wondered if mistress Fate was punishing him. She had broken his mind during Hojo's torturous experiments, and only when his peace was falling gradually back into place did she shatter it once again. At the hands of Sephiroth. He didn’t know if he could remain like this, a place between sanity and insanity. The sensation of claws ripping through his mind was becoming routine, but with each mental violation his grasp on himself slipped that bit closer to madness. To say it wouldn’t be good for the planet if he lost control of himself was an understatement. It would be certain devastation, and he fought so hard to prevent that every day, that it seemed too cruel and unfair to be placed in the situation most recently inflicted upon him.

   Vincent slumped against a mossy bolder and flicked off a few thorns from his black pants. They were new, as was his leather jacket, but his cape had remained faithfully undamaged. He took a deep breath and tried to reclaim his composure. It was getting difficult to sooth the chaos inside him, and he didn’t mean the demon. He wanted to sleep, to hide away from his imprisonment – away from Sephiroth, but he knew it would solve nothing. He was no longer his own master. What he wanted was irrelevant.

   Raising his weary red eyes as the fluffy white clouds drifted across the sun, he found himself gazing down the sloping wilds at a large manor-esque building, half built into the rocky edge of a small, slanting cliff. It could have been a large facility of some kind, except the architecture and features looked somehow domestic, and there was a meter-high, chocolate brown fencing that appeared to be for aesthetic purposes only, as it served no other function.

   Vincent stared at it, feeling unknown echoes stir inside him. He’d never seen it before in his life, but he knew Sephiroth had led him here. And for the reason, Vincent rose to his feet and began moving away, determined to put as much distance between the building and himself…


   He awoke an unknown amount of time later, abruptly shooting into a sitting position to examine his new surroundings. It appeared to be an expensive kitchen area, opening into a vast, impressive room which, at one point, might have been used for dinning. Pillars interspaced about the place, adding a class of uniqueness that screamed money; that and the highly polished marble floors, reflecting his image as he rose to his feet, warily. The lighting was dim, and it took him a few moments to realize there were no windows. He strode through the room to the corridor leading off, but it took him to more living areas, and not a window in sight.

   He knew where he was: Underground. In that building.

   His heartbeat picked up a pace at the thought, and he broke into an easy jog, determined not to let himself get carried away just yet. He found a set of low stairs leading onto an open balcony. He climbed them and followed it around, eyeing the many places where shadows could lurk…

   The place was a mansion. Had it been another situation, Vincent could have enjoyed this house, it boasted designs unique only here, and it appeared to run into the actual cliff, if the sheer size of it was any indication. There were many levels, and Vincent realized that he had become lost in the maze of hallways and rooms. He had seen no windows, and no exit points.

   He was trapped.

   Vincent continued forward, feeling desperate and apprehensive. He had lost consciousness somewhere during his travels away from the mansion, but Sephiroth had wanted him in, and in he had gotten him. He found another set of stairs, this time leading down, and leapt the entire lot. He was in a different part of the mansion, as indicated by the difference in design and color. He came to an indoor garden, the large plants, exotic flowers and trees all thriving from the artificial lights. He paused, debating if he should enter and search for an exit. It once would have been thrilling to find such a place to explore, but it no longer looked enticing. It looked foreboding and ominous. Anyone could be hiding in there.

   But it was a potential location for an exit. Surely…

   He stepped into the arched chamber, gazing up at the dark earth ceiling fitted with an elaborate lighting system. Somehow, seeing the rocky wall emitted a strangled claustrophobic sensation that sat uneasily in Vincent’s mind. He pushed it aside and made his way into the rich jungle of green, moving aside huge leaves as he stepped carefully through. How far back did it go? Was it a sealed chamber? If so, and there was no exit, he would need to return to the mansion… Why did he come in here?

   He pushed a thick green leaf from his path and stepped over a stout bush, but his cape became snagged on the sharp, stiff leaves. He turned to release it, but as he did a rustle of leaves from his front made him stiffen and he quickly turned back – only to catch a glimpse of something silver disappear into the greenery directly before him. Fear rippled his muscles and sent a wave through his body as he stepped back, stumbling over the bush but unable to remove his eyes from the spot ahead. He swallowed, feeling panic starting to set in. He had never felt like this… Scared… He had never been put in this position before, and he didn’t like it – not one bit.

   Vincent spun around and dashed back the way he had come, his eyes furious beneath his set brow. He wasn’t even aware of his loud breathing, his mind intent on leaving this place – escaping the thing hiding amongst the greens. Above the noise he was making, snapping branches from his path, he could hear the tell-tale signs of something following him. His heart raced, if possible, even faster. Where was the exit?

   In one swift moment he had leapt from the jungle of green into the welcoming light of the mansion. He spun on his axis and backed away, facing the strange, dense garden in waiting for his pursuer to emerge. No one – nothing – stepped from the leaves.

   His heavy breathing sounded painfully loud in the silence that followed. Vincent swallowed and slowed his pattern, trying to calm his racing heart. It was useless of him to run really… But he couldn’t restrain the instinctive urges. His crimson eyes darted about the garden once more before he edged away around the corner, turned, and broke into a fast stride. He glanced about; paranoid he would see something in the various potential hiding spots. He knew it was only a matter of time.

   Suddenly his mind was hit with a bolt of psychic surge. A hand rose to his head as he fell to his knees,

overcome with a sensation he could never explain, but he could always recognize. His eyes, which had rolled back from the mental assault, snapped open and in one fluid movement he swung around, his fist leading, his hair whipping about –

   Sephiroth caught his balled hand in an easy grip. His cat-like green eyes locked onto Vincent’s glaring red ones. That long silver hair was not a strand out of place.

   “Hello, Vincent…”

   The gunman wrenched his hand away, pacing back quickly. His heart was racing. He knew he could never run from Sephiroth… but he wanted to… oh, how he wanted to…

   The ex-general of SOLDIER regarded him with lazy amusement. There was a cunning twinkle in his eyes that set off his devious expression perfectly. He had donned a rather flattering slate-blue blouse, opened to reveal his sculptured chest, finished off with a pair of deep navy jeans. He looked quite at home.

   “Do you like it?” Sephiroth drawled, glancing leisurely about the rooms. They were next to a small staircase in various open-planned rooms. On the higher levels behind Vincent, a series of entertainment rooms and lounges were visible.

   “What is this place?” Vincent demanded, his deep voice whispery.

   Sephiroth smiled at him. It made Vincent’s skin crawl. “Think of it as… another Shinra Manor.” He watched Vincent’s reaction, and then turned his gaze on the high ceiling, as though something of interest was found up there. “Years ago, scientists used this building as they did the Manor.” His green eyes found Vincent’s again. “But it was used in a much more… personal capacity. Hence the aesthetic designs.”

   Vincent edged back slowly, eyeing his opponent carefully. He knew why he was here.

   “You managed but a small tour of the entire mansion,” Sephiroth said, unconcerned with Vincent’s slow retreat. Why should he be? He had all the control. “I’d be happy to show you the rest… starting with the bed chambers.”

   Vincent’s tolerance snapped. He spun on his heels and leapt clean over the staircase onto the higher level, darting into the maze of walls and rooms. A frightening chill ran through him as the sound of Sephiroth’s laughter rang through the air. His cape flared behind him as he dashed around a support pillar, only to be knocked to the floor as he ran straight into Sephiroth.

   He immediately scrambled back, frantically attempting to put distance between himself and Sephiroth, but the silver-haired man lunged for his arm and grabbed his wrist, wrenching him effortlessly to his feet. Vincent stumbled before being slammed against the pillar; a grunt escaped him as air was forced from his lungs. His mind was rolling, but he managed to raise his eyes to find Sephiroth’s boring into his, barely centimeters apart. He froze as their gazes locked.

   “You know I love it when you run,” Sephiroth smirked. His body pressed flush against Vincent’s, pinning him to the pillar. His arms encircled it, trapping the man’s own against his body. He enjoyed the look of apprehension flashing across Vincent’s flawless face.

   “Why can’t you leave me be?” Vincent demanded, his lips parted as air rushed through them. He could feel the pulse of Sephiroth’s erection against his hips, and a new flare of trepidation shot through him.

   Sephiroth’s smirk twitched a little wider, and his pupils dilated to give him a look of complete attention. “I’m infatuated with you, Vincent Valentine. Your every feature compels me to dominate you, to make you mine.” He paused, his amusement aroused. “And you are mine. You will forever be mine.”

   “I will never be yours,” Vincent growled, trying to ignore the soft breeze of Sephiroth’s breath. “You may command my body, but you will never have my soul.”

   Sephiroth’s face pushed forward even closer, their lips brushing, their noses touching. “Now there… you are wrong.” He crushed their lips together, and as Vincent began to resist, a strange sensation floated forcefully into his brain, and his struggling ceased. His body relaxed and for one brief, insane moment he desired nothing more the man’s touch. He yearned for it, wanted more. A shot of arousal curled into his belly. He wanted Sephiroth inside him, he wanted to be dominated. He wanted to be fucked, to feel the man pump his seed deep inside him. He wanted it so badly his heart ached.

   Suddenly Vincent’s mind regained its own control, and with a gasp he broke from the kiss, panting hard, his mind reeling, disoriented. He stared in wide-eyed horror at his captor. Sephiroth smirked back at him.

   “I can make you do anything I want you to,” the man whispered dangerously. “Your body… your soul belongs to me.”

   Something shattered inside Vincent. Some naïve sense of hope, which had survived within him all this time, was forced to the surfaced where, like a flame under rainfall, it was extinguished with nothing but an acrid aftertaste. Vincent closed his eyes in despairing resignation; he wanted nothing more than to perish with it.

   Prideful of his show of power, Sephiroth connected their lips, pleased to feel how pliable and compliant Vincent’s were. He indulged himself for a long minute, soaking in the unique scent his unwilling partner was unintentionally emanating, feeling his arousal grow strong with every passing second. When he parted from those delicious lips, he studied Vincent’s downcast, distant eyes with a mix of arrogance and enjoyment.

   “You will live for a very long time,” Sephiroth began, the light in his eyes teasingly mocking. “Fortunately, so will I.”

   Vincent raised his red eyes sharply, mustering all his hatred to shoot the man a sharp, detestable glare. It was wiped from his face as he was pulled from the pillar and pushed away.

   “Now run,” Sephiroth ordered lazily. “I want to chase my mate down before I fuck him. Makes the game much more arousing.”

   Anger intensified inside Vincent to the point of metamorphosis, but he held back his change into Chaos because he knew Sephiroth would not allow it. “I won’t,” he hissed back, his every word venomous.

   Sephiroth grinned and stepped forward, as though accepting some unknown challenge. “I can make you run. Be it on your own will or mine, you will run.”

   Harsh bolts of disgrace battered Vincent’s heart, and he gritted his teeth, clamping his eyes shut. He couldn’t let Sephiroth control his mind again, he wouldn’t be able to withstand it, he would lose to the battle of insanity. Yet, one of the hardest choices he had made in his life was now, as he turned and began running. Never had he obeyed such an indignant order. He was betraying himself, and all that he stood for.

   He ran away, racing through the strange mansion. Where he was heading he didn’t know. He knew Sephiroth would end it when he wanted to, when the pleasure became too much. He would take Vincent to some bed or surface and proceed to violate him. This was out of Vincent’s hand, and to admit such was perhaps one of the hardest things he had ever done. With every step he took his heart filled with dread, and at the same time he slipped closer to death in a way his mind would understand but his body wouldn’t.

   It was as he was passing through another kitchen, very much like the first he had woken in, did he stop. A thought occurred to him, a possibility. His eyes traveled to his right thigh where, holstered, was his triple barreled gun. He took it from its hold and examined it slowly. Where had he gotten this from? Presumably the same place his cape had come from. They had been with him since he had climbed out of that coffin. His cape wasn’t normal, it was organic, and therefore could do things that ordinary materials couldn’t.

   Could the same be said for his weapon?

   He raised the gun, studying his reflection on its smooth surface. He looked… ready. There was no sadness, only resolve. He had no fear, only a deep regret that he had been forced into this corner, to test the real power of this weapon. He was a man of dignity, he just couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t.

   Flashing thoughts of his friends interrupted his mind. Their faces played behind his eyes, and they were all laughing and smiling. That’s how he would remember them.

  He sighed softly, exhaling all his tension, and with slow, deliberate motion, placed the three barrel ends to his right temple. If it worked, he could be free. If it didn’t… well, he could only try…

   His world turned upside down suddenly, the gun was wrenched from his grasp. His back was shoved against the wall. When his vision stopped spinning, he directed his eyes to those of Sephiroth’s. Disappointment on an immense magnitude crushed his heart.

   “You would try to kill yourself to be rid of me?” Sephiroth asked. His tone was almost gentle, and there were no signs of enjoyment in his magical green eyes.

   “Yes,” Vincent hissed, feeling his heart sink lower as the opportunity to free himself was lost

   Sephiroth looked at the gun in his free hand, and after a moment turned back to the ex-Turk. He seemed to consider what Vincent had only seconds ago; that maybe Cerberus could do what other guns could not…

   “I will not let you,” Sephiroth stated harshly. “From now you will be unable to raise any weapon against yourself. I will make sure of it.”

   Vincent snapped. He lashed out his fist and amazingly caught Sephiroth by surprise, throwing his weight from Vincent’s body. The dark haired man jumped at the opening, but as his next blow came about, Sephiroth caught his fist, gained the upper hand and threw Vincent to the floor face-first, subduing him. Vincent thrashed and struggled, but it was futile, and he knew it.

   “You bastard!” he spat, feeling all his pent up hatred and emotions bubbling to the surface. Chaos roared inside his head, reacting to Vincent’s feelings. “You have no right! No…no right…” His anger trailed off as something heavy and warm settled into his head, soothing the raging emotions and curbing his string of rants. Frustrated, he unwillingly succumbed to the mental depressant, feeling his energy leave him and his tension ease away, replaced instead with the warmth of Sephiroth’s body, and the weight of his mass holding him down.

   A long silence held them both in suspension, until Vincent felt a hand gently stroking his hair, fingering the wild strands and combing softly through the tangles. It was relaxing, but for just that reason it frustrated him.

   “Why…?” Vincent breathed, his voice a whisper in the air. His heart beat slowly in his chest, calmed by the sensation from his scalp. “Why…must you… torture me…?”

   Sephiroth did not answer him.

   Vincent closed his eyes, feeling them burn with the desire to well. But he would not let them. He had never cried in his entire adult life, and he wouldn’t now. A comforting darkness settled into his mind, and his consciousness slipped away, replaced with the luring space of sleep.

   Above him, Sephiroth watched silently.


   Vincent came to, slowly, feeling his awareness sharpen as he extended his senses around him. His position was soft and comfortable, and the feel of cotton sheets against his skin felt nice…

   His eyes shot open and he sat up abruptly. He was in a bed chamber, a highly impressive, expensive room, lavished with rich features and furniture. Vincent looked down at himself to find his clothing had disappeared, and he was completely naked under the heavy feather duvet. Instantly his heart began racing, and before he could cast his eyes around again for his captor, Sephiroth was in his vision, hovering over him as though he had teleported there. Vincent was forced into the fluffy mattress and pillow. His hair sprawled about his face.

   “Hello, beautiful,” Sephiroth smirked. His shirt was missing but his jeans were still on. His long hair cascaded around them both, like a curtain of silk.

   Vincent gritted his teeth and swallowed. They were finally here, at this point. He could do nothing but accept the fate that Sephiroth had planned for him.

   “Were you ever told that you were the most exquisite creature to walk this planet?” The ex-general asked, an edge of serious inquisitiveness in his tone that made Vincent pause. What game was Sephiroth playing? “Tell me, did anyone ever mention your beauty?”

   The gunman stared, a hard frown edging his brow. He was unsure whether to respond. This seemed like a new tactic, perhaps Sephiroth was trying to woo him as some sick form of courtship. For kicks.

   Sephiroth blinked slowly at him. His appearance, although always threatening to Vincent, seemed less so right then. “Tell me.”

   “Yes,” Vincent bit his word coldly, his face hard.

   The silver-haired man smiled, but it was teasing. “You never believed them, did you?”

   Vincent rolled his head away in the groove of the pillow, his expression stony. He didn’t care for this conversation.

   “Vincent, look at me.”

   Stubborn was all he had to his name now. Vincent would play it to the end. He refused to meet Sephiroth’s gaze, but he waited on baited breath for the man to do it for him. It didn’t happen.


   Would he force him? If he refused any longer, would Sephiroth become angry at his insubordinate behavior and force him? His heat raced as he anticipated a mental violation… yet it didn’t come.

   “No, you didn’t believe them,” Sephiroth answered for him, his voice soft and smooth in the aftermath of their skirmish. The ex-general watched him, his expression unreadable. He, like Vincent, was a master of masks. “You are,” he stated. “You drive me wild with your beauty… and I cannot stop myself.”

   “And that’s an excuse for what you’ve done to me?” Vincent hissed incredulously.

   “No. Not an excuse.” Sephiroth said loudly, his arrogance seeping through a tad. “A realization for you to understand. Your magnificence.”

   “Then perhaps I should take a scalpel to my face!” Vincent snarled.

   “I won’t let you,” Sephiroth told him firmly.

   Vincent growled in frustration and clamped his eyes shut, turning away his face again. “Just do it! Get it over with.”

   Sephiroth lowered his lips to hover by Vincent’s ear. “I told you last time that I would make it last a lot longer. You won’t be rid of me so quickly.”

   Vincent’s brow creased in pain not at all physical, and held his breath, waiting for his ordeal to begin. But it didn’t, and he found himself looking back at Sephiroth’s eyes as his chin was tipped back again.

   “You’re beautiful.”

   “…Stop it…”

   “Who was it? Who told you, you were beautiful?”

   “Leave me be…”

   “Who told you?” Sephiroth demanded. He didn’t need to remind Vincent he could force him to comply.

   There was a long, tense air of silence between them, delaying Vincent’s answer. “Friends…”

   Sephiroth looked down on him with an expression Vincent could only suspect was triumph. He had wrung an answer from the gunman without using his forceful methods; he must feel so superior…

   “Hojo told you, didn’t he?”

   Vincent glared at him severely; the name of that man was an insult to his ears.

   “He told you first, that’s why you didn’t believe anyone else.” Sephiroth was hitting nails, and they were piercing Vincent’s heart painfully. “After all, if a monster like him can look at his work and deem it beautiful, it must be foul.”

   Jerking his chin from the large hands of his captor, the ex-Turk turned away once again. Torture had a whole new meaning now.

   “You are tired of this banter,” Sephiroth stated. A second later his lips were by Vincent’s neck, breathing warm breath onto the sensitive skin. “Then perhaps it is time to end conversation… and begin what I brought you here for.”

   Vincent sucked in a breath and closed his eyes in dread as the man’s lips descended onto his neck, sucking the delicate pulse as his hands started to roam. His legs were pushed apart as the ex-general settled between them, his jeans rubbing against the insides of Vincent’s thighs. His heart was beyond calming now, and as Sephiroth began undulating slowly against him, he resigned completely to his fate. He was a sex toy, nothing more.

   The pain he had been expecting never came. To his confusion, Sephiroth toyed with him slowly, putting him through foreplay motions he had neglected to bestow Vincent before. His tongue ravaged Vincent’s neck as his hands massaged his body, running up the length of his side almost tenderly, like a lover exploring his body. A fuzzy heaviness began to fall into his mind as Sephiroth’s mouth trailed nips and licks south, and slowly everything started to feel good. Twice as good. Unnaturally good. Every touch was soon sending electrical waves of pleasure through Vincent, and before his mind had been completely drowned in this hazy arousal, he knew it was Sephiroth’s doing.

   From then, it was a wrong kind of heaven. His body was on fire, pleasures writhed in his navel as Sephiroth’s tongue played with a nipple, teasing the nub to wring a moan from Vincent’s drugged lips. He could barely think coherently. His body responded too eagerly, desperate for more, but in the depth of his clouded mind, he knew that to enjoy anything from this man was wrong. He couldn’t forgive himself. He couldn’t let go. But his body ignored such reasons. Pleasure was dominating his control.

   “Ah…” he gasped as a slicked finger slid inside him with ease. It was cold as it probed his insides, properly lubricated, curling to entice another moan from him. This was wrong… so wrong… Vincent’s mind swam with sensations. He had not felt this heavily aroused in a very long time. In fact, he couldn’t say he had ever been this stimulated.

   His back arched sharply and a moan fled from his lips as cruel delight bolted from his prostate. Those wicked fingers worked him into a writhing mess, and in the dark recesses of his mind, he was utterly ashamed.

   It was a moment later, when Sephiroth’s fingers had left his body, did he hear the sound of the zip echo vaguely in the forefront of his awareness. He was too drugged to fully anticipate what came next as he groaned softly, pleasured by his captor’s relentless tongue.

   “Nn!” He seized when the heavy, thick weight slid into him effortless. The fullness and pressure threw his mind into disarray. He could feel its length reach into his belly, settle inside him solidly, intrusively, possessively. Sephiroth’s testicles pressed against his buttocks and his navel met Vincent’s. He could feel every powerful pulse as the man’s cock throbbed inside him, eager to pound him to oblivion and pump him full. “No…” He breathed, his words no more than a passing of air over his lips.

   “Yeeeees…” Sephiroth whispered. He smirked down at his mate, reveling in the sight of Vincent so utterly unraveled. “Moan for me, beautiful.”

  He could do little else as Sephiroth retracted his huge cock and slid back in. He teased Vincent’s body with deep, slow strokes, enticing wave after wave of stinging pleasure inside the gunman. With every thrust it felt like the entire length pushed that little bit further into him, sending an intense force along his spine to his brain, corrupting his mind. His vertebrae arched, his body writhed, his eyelids fluttered as his hair bounced softly over his cheeks. The sheets around him twisted, disturbed by their actions.

   Vincent gasped softly as a stab of bliss erupted from his sweet spot. His body nudged back and forth in the plush mattress, following the rhythm that Sephiroth was creating. It was steady, lulling almost, as the man’s hips rocked in and out deeply, powerfully; in complete control. Vincent’s body was completely vulnerable – he was no longer in control of himself, even his pleasure had been amplified with a mental aphrodisiac. But there was no place for concern amongst the swirling rapture.

   He hit his orgasm before he was even aware his spine was bowing and his entire body was shuddering. A loud cry burst from his open mouth as his very mind exploded, incapable of registering anything until he fell back into the soft mattress, panting heavily as his senses returned. He thought it was over, but gave a weak, startled whimper as Sephiroth continued to pump into him, steady and deep, unaffected by Vincent’s release.

   Just as he was beginning to resign himself once again to Sephiroth’s thrusts, the man abruptly withdrew his huge length and in one fluid movement had flipped Vincent onto his belly, shoved a cushion beneath his hips and penetrated him with such brazen force and ease that Vincent was unable to stop a gasp of pleasure shooting from his lips.

   Sephiroth drove himself inside with renewed power, ensuring every thrust hit its mark. Vincent was reduced to a writhing mess, choking on moan after moan. His hands gripped the bed sheets so tight he tore them like paper. He didn’t notice. He couldn’t. Sephiroth’s assault against his prostate sent torrents of mind-numbing ecstasy through his veins, and although he hadn’t realized, his own length had started to respond, painfully hard once again. Only when he registered the sensation of cotton rubbing against the sensitive skin did he hit his second orgasm, and Sephiroth met his first. He was pressed hard into the mattress, crushed between it and the heavy body as he felt Sephiroth shudder with his release, and a torrent of hot semen erupted from the man’s pulsing cock, gushing deep inside him. Vincent barely felt his own beneath the crashing feelings rolling off his dominator.

   The warmth inside him pulsated with each of his own heartbeats, reminding him in a lewd manner to whom he belonged. He felt unbearably full, and for one brief, disturbing moment feared that it had ejaculated so deep inside that it would burn him from the inside out. A flare of trepidation shot through him, but no sooner had it reared was it soothed over by an external force. The same fuzzy, light-headed pleasure that had forced him into submission earlier reasserted itself, and the uncomfortable, heavy semen inside of him became a pleasant, gratifying fullness.

   With Sephiroth’s cock still implanted in Vincent, he could feel the organ stiffening slowly as it throbbed back to rigidness. All comprehension of time disappeared as the ex-general began nudging in and out again, apparently finding a good angle, as a second later he pulled out almost completely and slammed back in, hard, stilling his hips as he savored Vincent’s weakened tenses and hoarse cry. His rhythm continued for an incalculable amount of time, until the pounding was all Vincent knew, and the pleasures threatened to send him over the edge for good. At some point he lost all bearing, and only did it stop when the world began to fade to black…


   The smell of recently extinguished candles caught the first of his awakening senses as Vincent gradually ascended from the oblivion of sleep. His eyes fluttered open before he was aware of anything else, preceding the inevitable bombardment of after-sex feelings. He hadn’t even moved, but a grimace of pain twisted his brow as the deep aches and stinging pains rather cruelly greeted him. Despite his stiff and sore body, and his mentally bruised mind, he raised his hands and pressed them against his face, as though it would help push out the vivid memories of his defilement. It did little except block out the dim lights.

   He wanted to die. He wished it with all his heart. But more than that, he wanted to kill the man who had brought him beyond shame and despair. He had to find a way, he couldn’t survive like this, as a pleasure toy. His mind was already clinging desperately to the edge of sanity. He couldn’t live like this much longer…

   Ignoring his protesting body, Vincent propped himself onto his elbows and looked about the faintly lit room. He was alone. He wondered if it was over, if his ordeal had come to an end for now, or if Sephiroth was waiting somewhere in the mansion, leading Vincent into a false sense of relief. He couldn’t sense him, but as proven most recently, Sephiroth could easily mask his presence. A faint spike of anxiety trickled down his spine as his eyes noticed the closed door in the shadows. He didn’t really want to go through there, but even more so he didn’t want to stay in this bedroom.

   He slid his legs over the edge of the mattress and winced as pain shot through his backside. Flashes of quick, disorientated memories followed, of Sephiroth’s shoulders riding back and forth above him, a glimpse of glowing green eyes and a waterfall of silver hair. Vincent’s eyebrows furrowed; he knew that he would be unwittingly visiting these memories again. They would become his new nightmares.

   He stood on shaky legs, aware how unsteady he actually was. His muscles felt like jelly, throbbing as though he had taken a severe beating. Well, that wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Using the various fancy tables, with their elegant candelabra and used wicks, to support his way across the room, he found his clothing folded on a spindly, ornate chair. He dressed quickly, eager for the illusionary protection of his garments. He was surprised to find his gun with them, but bitterly recalled Sephiroth’s arrogant declaration in the kitchen. He was half tempted to challenge that right there, to put the three barrels to his temple and pull the trigger. And yet, the other half of him couldn’t discover whether he had actually lost that prerogative. He wouldn’t be able to handle it.

   The hallway beyond the door was short, leading to what seemed to be a turret faulty lounge. A chandelier hung from the center, electric lights illuminating the room. Various hallways led to other bedrooms, except the one opposite, which appeared to lead into another chamber. Vincent cast his eyes around quickly before heading across the room to the next area. It seemed to be a large recreational chamber; there was a grand piano to his right behind a pillar, various pieces of lavish furniture, a bar built into the far left wall and wall-mounted televisions scattered around. But what caught Vincent’s attention were the three windows on the right. He moved over to them and reached for a glass pane. It was warm under his fingertips, and upon closer inspection revealed no outside view. It was an imitation window, with artificial light. He was still underground.

   For a further fifteen minutes Vincent wandered through this maze of a mansion, looking for the exit. He kept his eyes peeled, his senses on alert for movement or noise. But he saw and heard nothing, and when he finally looked across a large lobby and saw what could only be the front door – and a real window – he felt both elated and paranoid. Was Sephiroth going to pounce on him the moment he was within reach of freedom? Had he been watching him from the shadows, ready to take him against his will again?

   But not. When Vincent edged carefully around the room and to the entrance he noticed a sheet of paper pinned to the wood.

   See you soon, Vincent. It read.

   An involuntary shiver ran through him. Another horrifying ordeal awaited some time in the unforeseeable future, bringing a cold grip of fear and nausea to him. No…no he couldn’t bear another experience like this one. It would ruin him.

   Ripping the paper from the wood, Vincent tore it apart violently, teeth gritted, eyes blazing. He wrenched the door from its hinges and flung it with all his might into the mansion. It shattered against a wall, denting the plasterboard deeply, showering the floor in splinters.

   An enraged bellow burst from his fanged mouth and an furious black miasma ripped from his body, enveloping his form. Chaos erupted from within, roaring belligerently, wings snapping to their full lengths. A second later searing bright energy encompassed his body and with a ragged snarl it exploded into the mansion, bringing ruin to everything in sight.

   Barely two minutes later there was no mansion. There was no cliff. The land around had been decimated and an immense dust cloud blotted out the sun.

   A figure strode from the fringes of the dirty fog, his cape fluttering angrily behind him. His glowing red eyes pierced the haze as he stormed off, away from his destruction.

   Away from his nightmare.


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