[Angeal's moan is like a siren's song, sinking its melodious teeth in and dragging out more of Sephiroth's ravenous hunger. The hand he'd tangled up in Angeal's collar relinquishes that grip, only to travel down lower-- to find Angeal's hip and dig his fingers in. He uses that as leverage, pinning Angeal soundly between the wall and his body, rolling their hips firmly together. Sephiroth is already hard, hungrily seeking friction between them.
And... well. Angeal is right. Right now, Sephiroth doesn't care. His boundaries and inhibitions have all been practically frayed into nothing. He's been a cruel and wicked thing for so long-- used to taking what he wants without asking.
But that yes still puts its hooks in him, and the wheels turn in his mind.
He doesn't greet Angeal's lips again just yet.
Sephiroth has existed in this place for long enough that he knows dreams and one's will play a significant part in where you end up. He's developed a mastery in navigating it after all. And so... he moves his hand from Angeal's hip, sliding it to his back as if to support him. A strange gesture when they're up against the wall until-- suddenly the wall is no longer there, and Sephiroth is guiding him through a doorway.
Even if Angeal were to elect not to look, he'd know they were somewhere entirely different from the lighting alone. It's warmer, fuller... a jarring difference from the wide open emptiness they'd been occupying moments before. And... a familiar one at that. It's an apartment, cozy and modest. Plants - thriving and green - line every window. Photos with unmistakable faces neatly line the walls and counters. Most curiously of all are the flickering images - blink and miss them - of Sephiroth and Angeal that shimmer about various places. Watering plants together, cooking in the kitchen, reading on the couch--
Memories of a kinder time.
But if Sephiroth regards any of this at all, it's fleeting and disinterested. He's far more intent upon pulling Angeal with him down the hall and into the bedroom.]
no subject
And... well. Angeal is right. Right now, Sephiroth doesn't care. His boundaries and inhibitions have all been practically frayed into nothing. He's been a cruel and wicked thing for so long-- used to taking what he wants without asking.
But that yes still puts its hooks in him, and the wheels turn in his mind.
He doesn't greet Angeal's lips again just yet.
Sephiroth has existed in this place for long enough that he knows dreams and one's will play a significant part in where you end up. He's developed a mastery in navigating it after all. And so... he moves his hand from Angeal's hip, sliding it to his back as if to support him. A strange gesture when they're up against the wall until-- suddenly the wall is no longer there, and Sephiroth is guiding him through a doorway.
Even if Angeal were to elect not to look, he'd know they were somewhere entirely different from the lighting alone. It's warmer, fuller... a jarring difference from the wide open emptiness they'd been occupying moments before. And... a familiar one at that. It's an apartment, cozy and modest. Plants - thriving and green - line every window. Photos with unmistakable faces neatly line the walls and counters. Most curiously of all are the flickering images - blink and miss them - of Sephiroth and Angeal that shimmer about various places. Watering plants together, cooking in the kitchen, reading on the couch--
Memories of a kinder time.
But if Sephiroth regards any of this at all, it's fleeting and disinterested. He's far more intent upon pulling Angeal with him down the hall and into the bedroom.]