Categories > Games > Final Fantasy 7
Seconds
Kadaj takes a moment to remember the one he loved most. Explicit, but not overly so; so rating is just to be safe.
?Blocked
Disclaimer: Don't own it, or it wouldn't be called fanfiction.
Notes: Yaoi. Lemon. About the only warnings, and no spoilers.
I always considered Yazoo to be the most gentle out of the three of us. He was kind, sensitive, beautiful, talented...and the descriptions go on and on. He played with Loz, because after all, Loz was just a big, loveable kid. He talked with me when I needed help with something, and he always saw that I got exactly the help I needed. He was very understanding and he always knew how to cheer me up.
Yazoo, where are you to help me now?
I am a mess without you.
I remember him vividly. He was a little taller than me, and built very delicately. He was shy, and showed it in the way he zipped his ankle-length coat up to his chin to keep any flesh from being exposed. He was modest, I guess. Or maybe insecure. I never dwelled too much on that. I rather liked his body.
His hair was beautiful, long, and exceptionally silky. I know because every night he'd let me brush it, and I'd take the time to run my fingers through it before pushing it over one slight, narrow shoulder and lightly kissing the back of his milky-colored neck. His complexion is another thing completely; pale and even. He was like a painting, if you ever notice that in portraits, the subjects have no imperfections unless that is what the painting is meant to show. Yazoo was a work of art indeed.
His eyes were green, like mine, but his were more jade-colored. Teal, I suppose. I don't know, the color is so hard to describe. They were a very pretty color, nonetheless. They glistened and glittered in the light, or when he would merely turn his head or look at someone in a certain way. They had a sense of mischief to them. Yazoo was definitely a little impish. He was an elf, a faerie, a pixie, a Puck, a sprite, whatever you want to call it. And his eyes showed it even when his actions didn't.
His lips were one of my favorite parts of him. They were full, pink, pouty, and glossy. They were so very soft, and I know this because they usually ended up all over me, kissing every part of me they could get to. It made me shiver every time he kissed me and I'm sure it wasn't dissimilar for him.
He had long, graceful fingers that stroked my hair and caressed my face. They intertwined with mine and made them feel inferior. Everything about him made me feel that way, though I know I wasn't and he would never have considered me to be, and perhaps that's why he was normally dominant. I let him be. But his hands were always soft and they always gave me something to hold on to when I was scared or alone.
Yazoo had a gentle, resonant voice. He had a wonderful singing voice, but he didn't sing much because there wasn't much to sing about. I loved to talk to him, just to hear that beautiful voice. He would whisper in my ear and cause me to shudder again. It gave me the chills when he would say my name, 'Kadaj,' whether he would speak it, or sigh it, moan it, cry it, and especially scream it.
I was the only one who ever knew him any deeper than his exterior. I was the only one to get underneath his protective barrier of black leather. And I did it as often as I could.
That was when I would stop noticing the particular things about Yazoo and notice what he was as a whole. This was when I realized that his eyes didn't lie; he really was wicked. He would always start by kissing me tenderly, running those elegant fingers along the slight curves of my body. My body to me wasn't special, but he disagreed passionately. I never quite figured out why he preferred me over anyone else, but I felt so lucky because he did.
Then his fingers would find their way to the zipper of my leather coat and slide it down easily so that it showed my light tan chest, and he would peel the coat away from my body and my arms. Then velvet lips would kiss and nip at my neck and upper body, and I would tug at his hair because I wanted him so badly that it hurt. He would look at me and give me an elfin smirk and he'd let me pull his coat from him. I would pull him in, my eyes meeting his sea-green eyes for a few seconds, and then I would give him a kiss that reminded him just how much I loved him. I would tangle my fingers in his long, thick silver hair as he would tell me I was beautiful or that he loved me. I would blush and say something like, "Stop playing, Yazoo."
He would just nod and dexterous fingers would work at the button and zipper of my pants, and he would pull them off, pulling my boots off in the process. He would set them aside and caress my thighs, because he knew it drove me completely crazy. I loved it. His fingers would brush the inside and I would moan his name, and he would answer with mine. I would try to place his hand where I wanted it, and he would please me for a few seconds and then pull his hand away. I would then pull the black tank top he always wore over his head and then we would work on his boots. It took two because we had to unbuckle three straps on each boot and then untie them. Then I would free him of leather pants and kiss his full lips. "Yazoo," I would say. "Please, Yazoo. I need you now." I would pull him down to lie on top of me and I'd wrap my leg around his waist.
"Someone's impatient," he would tease and I would tug at his hair again. He'd finally give in and enter, staying still inside me because he knew it hurt for the first few seconds. I'd get used to it and tell him to go on, and he would, adding speed and force at my commands. I'd cry out his name, "Yazoo, Yazoo I love you, my Yazoo..." and he'd let out soft sighs, deep moans, passionate cries. Mine would echo when he'd find that spot that felt so good and he'd hit that spot again and again, making me all but scream in rapture. It always felt so good. His hand would go between our heated bodies to stroke me and soon it would be over, ending with final cries out to each other and he'd lie next to me, covering my face in his sweet, gentle kisses as we'd try to catch our breaths.
Sometimes I wonder what Loz would think if he knew how Yazoo and I used to play.
Sometimes I wonder if Yazoo were still here, would we still play like that? Probably. We loved each other to the very end.
The bitter end did come, however. It came sooner I would have liked.
One of our monsters had turned on him and was trying to attack him. Yazoo shot at it, and in its rage it slashed him across the stomach with its jagged claws. It bled severely, but the infection he got afterward was what we really worried about. No medicines worked. It had already spread to most of his body by the end of the day. I spent most of the day crying, and he comforted me, telling me he was all right. He would get better.
That night in his sleep, just before the sun rose, he became part of the Lifestream, and I'm just glad he went somewhat peacefully.
But where are you now that I need you?
Still, it's hard to live without that body, that face, that hair, that mouth, those hands, those piercing eyes; my Yazoo. I finished cutting his name again onto the underside of my wrist and blotted the blood away with his shirt that I now wore to bed. There's five letters now. One for each year he's been gone. His name is complete, and the vein running down my arm is slit. I watch the blood flow out faster than I can try to wipe it away. I feel weak, and I manage to put a jagged cut on the other one. I know I'll only last a few more seconds, and that may be all I'll be able to stand. Yazoo, I'm coming home with you...
Notes: Yaoi. Lemon. About the only warnings, and no spoilers.
I always considered Yazoo to be the most gentle out of the three of us. He was kind, sensitive, beautiful, talented...and the descriptions go on and on. He played with Loz, because after all, Loz was just a big, loveable kid. He talked with me when I needed help with something, and he always saw that I got exactly the help I needed. He was very understanding and he always knew how to cheer me up.
Yazoo, where are you to help me now?
I am a mess without you.
I remember him vividly. He was a little taller than me, and built very delicately. He was shy, and showed it in the way he zipped his ankle-length coat up to his chin to keep any flesh from being exposed. He was modest, I guess. Or maybe insecure. I never dwelled too much on that. I rather liked his body.
His hair was beautiful, long, and exceptionally silky. I know because every night he'd let me brush it, and I'd take the time to run my fingers through it before pushing it over one slight, narrow shoulder and lightly kissing the back of his milky-colored neck. His complexion is another thing completely; pale and even. He was like a painting, if you ever notice that in portraits, the subjects have no imperfections unless that is what the painting is meant to show. Yazoo was a work of art indeed.
His eyes were green, like mine, but his were more jade-colored. Teal, I suppose. I don't know, the color is so hard to describe. They were a very pretty color, nonetheless. They glistened and glittered in the light, or when he would merely turn his head or look at someone in a certain way. They had a sense of mischief to them. Yazoo was definitely a little impish. He was an elf, a faerie, a pixie, a Puck, a sprite, whatever you want to call it. And his eyes showed it even when his actions didn't.
His lips were one of my favorite parts of him. They were full, pink, pouty, and glossy. They were so very soft, and I know this because they usually ended up all over me, kissing every part of me they could get to. It made me shiver every time he kissed me and I'm sure it wasn't dissimilar for him.
He had long, graceful fingers that stroked my hair and caressed my face. They intertwined with mine and made them feel inferior. Everything about him made me feel that way, though I know I wasn't and he would never have considered me to be, and perhaps that's why he was normally dominant. I let him be. But his hands were always soft and they always gave me something to hold on to when I was scared or alone.
Yazoo had a gentle, resonant voice. He had a wonderful singing voice, but he didn't sing much because there wasn't much to sing about. I loved to talk to him, just to hear that beautiful voice. He would whisper in my ear and cause me to shudder again. It gave me the chills when he would say my name, 'Kadaj,' whether he would speak it, or sigh it, moan it, cry it, and especially scream it.
I was the only one who ever knew him any deeper than his exterior. I was the only one to get underneath his protective barrier of black leather. And I did it as often as I could.
That was when I would stop noticing the particular things about Yazoo and notice what he was as a whole. This was when I realized that his eyes didn't lie; he really was wicked. He would always start by kissing me tenderly, running those elegant fingers along the slight curves of my body. My body to me wasn't special, but he disagreed passionately. I never quite figured out why he preferred me over anyone else, but I felt so lucky because he did.
Then his fingers would find their way to the zipper of my leather coat and slide it down easily so that it showed my light tan chest, and he would peel the coat away from my body and my arms. Then velvet lips would kiss and nip at my neck and upper body, and I would tug at his hair because I wanted him so badly that it hurt. He would look at me and give me an elfin smirk and he'd let me pull his coat from him. I would pull him in, my eyes meeting his sea-green eyes for a few seconds, and then I would give him a kiss that reminded him just how much I loved him. I would tangle my fingers in his long, thick silver hair as he would tell me I was beautiful or that he loved me. I would blush and say something like, "Stop playing, Yazoo."
He would just nod and dexterous fingers would work at the button and zipper of my pants, and he would pull them off, pulling my boots off in the process. He would set them aside and caress my thighs, because he knew it drove me completely crazy. I loved it. His fingers would brush the inside and I would moan his name, and he would answer with mine. I would try to place his hand where I wanted it, and he would please me for a few seconds and then pull his hand away. I would then pull the black tank top he always wore over his head and then we would work on his boots. It took two because we had to unbuckle three straps on each boot and then untie them. Then I would free him of leather pants and kiss his full lips. "Yazoo," I would say. "Please, Yazoo. I need you now." I would pull him down to lie on top of me and I'd wrap my leg around his waist.
"Someone's impatient," he would tease and I would tug at his hair again. He'd finally give in and enter, staying still inside me because he knew it hurt for the first few seconds. I'd get used to it and tell him to go on, and he would, adding speed and force at my commands. I'd cry out his name, "Yazoo, Yazoo I love you, my Yazoo..." and he'd let out soft sighs, deep moans, passionate cries. Mine would echo when he'd find that spot that felt so good and he'd hit that spot again and again, making me all but scream in rapture. It always felt so good. His hand would go between our heated bodies to stroke me and soon it would be over, ending with final cries out to each other and he'd lie next to me, covering my face in his sweet, gentle kisses as we'd try to catch our breaths.
Sometimes I wonder what Loz would think if he knew how Yazoo and I used to play.
Sometimes I wonder if Yazoo were still here, would we still play like that? Probably. We loved each other to the very end.
The bitter end did come, however. It came sooner I would have liked.
One of our monsters had turned on him and was trying to attack him. Yazoo shot at it, and in its rage it slashed him across the stomach with its jagged claws. It bled severely, but the infection he got afterward was what we really worried about. No medicines worked. It had already spread to most of his body by the end of the day. I spent most of the day crying, and he comforted me, telling me he was all right. He would get better.
That night in his sleep, just before the sun rose, he became part of the Lifestream, and I'm just glad he went somewhat peacefully.
But where are you now that I need you?
Still, it's hard to live without that body, that face, that hair, that mouth, those hands, those piercing eyes; my Yazoo. I finished cutting his name again onto the underside of my wrist and blotted the blood away with his shirt that I now wore to bed. There's five letters now. One for each year he's been gone. His name is complete, and the vein running down my arm is slit. I watch the blood flow out faster than I can try to wipe it away. I feel weak, and I manage to put a jagged cut on the other one. I know I'll only last a few more seconds, and that may be all I'll be able to stand. Yazoo, I'm coming home with you...
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