Fallen Child
December 23rd, 2008 10:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skerenTitle: Fallen Child
Fandom: FFVII
Characters: Sephiroth, Rufus
Words: 883
Warning: Implications of sexual things and not so pleasant ones.
Note: My incubus' beginnings, for one![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
ladynero. Enjoy!
They had finally deemed him old enough to hunt alone.
None of the others would overshadow his catch and take part of the essence, no others would interfere when he believed it had just gotten to that perfect point. He could have his hunt alone, and not share with one who was more annoyance than protector.
He was sure it had to do with age, of course. The very young ones were often considered more bait than hunter, and he had barely passed into what the humans called their young teens. Then again, some of the others he had seen were weak without help, and again, most humans would question their fortune on finding such a child with no keeper.
Thus, he could not argue how a child was made to hunt, but he was free of that now, and he had left as it was time for him to do.
Unfortunately, he felt spoiled for variety. The first city he’d come to was nearly overwhelming without another to siphon off some of the emotions, and he found himself skirting back out of it with no prey, feeling sick from unhealthy emotions. Lust simply should not be tempered by so many horrible feelings. It should be clean!
He could not, however, avoid cities forever. He was young, he needed food and the best places were among the herds of humans that took to the cities.
Perhaps he could lure one away here?
Yes... that would be best. If he could bring one to him he could avoid making himself ill and still get his needs met.
The plan went well, for a time, rumor spread slowly of a fae in the woods, out towards the old keep, and the deeper rumor that labeled the fae as a soul eater only encouraged some of the more perverse, which only did him well.
Unfortunately, he was young, and had not yet learned the fallacy of such thinking.
He was caught.
It was a hunt like another, the one he’d fixed his attention on a young man, one who might return two or three times before falling to exhaustion and never waking, and he was even a lovely one too. He preferred that in his prey than a hideous beast of a human who was only good for soothing the niggling start of starvation.
This one had paid attention to rumors, looked into them, and had the power to do so.
He did not come alone.
One moment he’d slipped from behind the trees, his green feline eyes meeting the gray of the blond’s, the next he found himself falling, pain racing over his skin from a point at his back.
His hair worked against him, silver obscuring his view of the other assailants as he struggled to maintain focus.
However, it was simply not to be.
From then, he did see that prey again, but the situation was not to his liking.
He was smaller, not yet full grown, and the prey was taller by a bit. He wanted to consume everything of the man, take his essence and soul into him, take because the human did not deserve his life.
He was chained. Cold iron made it so he could not properly eat. He could barely sustain himself on the bits of lust he gleaned, and only then when he was physically touching the other.
Thus, the human worked around his desires and simply did as he pleased. It left him feeling more used than satisfied, no matter the praise and petting the blond might give him after. He drew out the visits as long as he could to try to ease the ache of his hunger. No matter the humiliation that being so yielding would otherwise bring him, he could not think of it when that was all he had. It was his only chance of focus and relief.
The room he lived in was cold, lightless, and without a bed to sleep on. There was no creature comforts to the way he was chained, unable to rise above a crouch, skin exposed to open air. The human brought blankets when he came, and that was a small respite, but he felt his spirit being slowly crushed by the ache of captivity and hunger.
Human food did nothing to satiate his needs. Human food was not the pure sensation that was growing harder to remember with each passing day of iron on his skin.
And then one day, even that so unfavorable contact passed away, leaving him alone, forgotten, for a very, very long time, with only the cold and dark to keep him company.
In that time, he forgot. He forgot what a hunter he had been for a short time. He forgot that the need he was waiting to soothe did not need only be soothed by the one who had come to him for the years he had lived. He forgot what it was like to stand, and be warm.
He forgot most everything, save his name and that he was waiting.
He was Sephiroth, and whoever finally unlocked him would have everything he could give them, because he was waiting, and had been waiting, for them to return to him for far, far too long.
Fandom: FFVII
Characters: Sephiroth, Rufus
Words: 883
Warning: Implications of sexual things and not so pleasant ones.
Note: My incubus' beginnings, for one
ladynero. Enjoy!They had finally deemed him old enough to hunt alone.
None of the others would overshadow his catch and take part of the essence, no others would interfere when he believed it had just gotten to that perfect point. He could have his hunt alone, and not share with one who was more annoyance than protector.
He was sure it had to do with age, of course. The very young ones were often considered more bait than hunter, and he had barely passed into what the humans called their young teens. Then again, some of the others he had seen were weak without help, and again, most humans would question their fortune on finding such a child with no keeper.
Thus, he could not argue how a child was made to hunt, but he was free of that now, and he had left as it was time for him to do.
Unfortunately, he felt spoiled for variety. The first city he’d come to was nearly overwhelming without another to siphon off some of the emotions, and he found himself skirting back out of it with no prey, feeling sick from unhealthy emotions. Lust simply should not be tempered by so many horrible feelings. It should be clean!
He could not, however, avoid cities forever. He was young, he needed food and the best places were among the herds of humans that took to the cities.
Perhaps he could lure one away here?
Yes... that would be best. If he could bring one to him he could avoid making himself ill and still get his needs met.
The plan went well, for a time, rumor spread slowly of a fae in the woods, out towards the old keep, and the deeper rumor that labeled the fae as a soul eater only encouraged some of the more perverse, which only did him well.
Unfortunately, he was young, and had not yet learned the fallacy of such thinking.
He was caught.
It was a hunt like another, the one he’d fixed his attention on a young man, one who might return two or three times before falling to exhaustion and never waking, and he was even a lovely one too. He preferred that in his prey than a hideous beast of a human who was only good for soothing the niggling start of starvation.
This one had paid attention to rumors, looked into them, and had the power to do so.
He did not come alone.
One moment he’d slipped from behind the trees, his green feline eyes meeting the gray of the blond’s, the next he found himself falling, pain racing over his skin from a point at his back.
His hair worked against him, silver obscuring his view of the other assailants as he struggled to maintain focus.
However, it was simply not to be.
From then, he did see that prey again, but the situation was not to his liking.
He was smaller, not yet full grown, and the prey was taller by a bit. He wanted to consume everything of the man, take his essence and soul into him, take because the human did not deserve his life.
He was chained. Cold iron made it so he could not properly eat. He could barely sustain himself on the bits of lust he gleaned, and only then when he was physically touching the other.
Thus, the human worked around his desires and simply did as he pleased. It left him feeling more used than satisfied, no matter the praise and petting the blond might give him after. He drew out the visits as long as he could to try to ease the ache of his hunger. No matter the humiliation that being so yielding would otherwise bring him, he could not think of it when that was all he had. It was his only chance of focus and relief.
The room he lived in was cold, lightless, and without a bed to sleep on. There was no creature comforts to the way he was chained, unable to rise above a crouch, skin exposed to open air. The human brought blankets when he came, and that was a small respite, but he felt his spirit being slowly crushed by the ache of captivity and hunger.
Human food did nothing to satiate his needs. Human food was not the pure sensation that was growing harder to remember with each passing day of iron on his skin.
And then one day, even that so unfavorable contact passed away, leaving him alone, forgotten, for a very, very long time, with only the cold and dark to keep him company.
In that time, he forgot. He forgot what a hunter he had been for a short time. He forgot that the need he was waiting to soothe did not need only be soothed by the one who had come to him for the years he had lived. He forgot what it was like to stand, and be warm.
He forgot most everything, save his name and that he was waiting.
He was Sephiroth, and whoever finally unlocked him would have everything he could give them, because he was waiting, and had been waiting, for them to return to him for far, far too long.