Chapter Text
Sephiroth was a man of many natural talents. Swordplay, military strategy, operational tactics – at all these Sephiroth neatly outstripped the competition, working with the graceful ease of a person who never yet washed against failure’s rough, unpleasant shore. Less publically, but no less immaculately, he also had a sommelier’s taste in wine, perfect pitch, and beautiful handwriting.
But the thing Sephiroth was best at, the skill to which he applied himself with expert, undivided attention and utmost confidence, was one that only a fortunate few were privy to.
Sephiroth sucked cock like a god. He sucked cock like he was trying and succeeding at destroying a man in the hot, tight forge of his throat and putting him back together in a new shape, one that was marked by Sephiroth forever. A thousand years of lovers and imperial courtesans and bawdy poets and no one, not one of them, could have looked and felt so good, could even imagine it could feel like this. Lazard had said this and more, tongue loose as Sephiroth’s own tongue licked what felt suspiciously like magic up and down his shaft.
“If you’re still this articulate, I’ve applied myself insufficiently,” Sephiroth laughed, dark silver eyelashes lowered over green glow of his amusement.
Lazard did lose significant vocabulary after that, reduced to swearing he’d never tire of Sephiroth’s beautiful mouth, that if he died right now it would be worth it. Fucking Sephiroth’s throat, Lazard’s hands wrapped in his hair causing Sephiroth to divert one hand from Lazard’s hips to pay some attention to his own cock, reduced him yet again, to a creature of curses and moans. And then Sephiroth wrested back overt control and started in on his cruelest, most wonderful trick – he could tell exactly when to stop, leaving Lazard a hairsbreadth from orgasm, something he would do again and again, his firm thumb and forefinger tight around the root of Lazard’s cock, until the only words left were “Please, please, please.”
Sephiroth gave him a long, tantalizing smile, dark red, wet lips brushing Lazard’s desperately hard glans. His voice was only slightly roughened, dark and slow, and his eyes shuttered in anticipatory satisfaction. “Mmm. Come on my face.”
With a few quick jerks of his hand, Lazard did, crying with profound relief. There was always so much after getting treated like this, big, thick shots of come that he felt well up from deep in his balls, seeming to take detours through his shaking limbs as they went. The first one caught Sephiroth on the cheek; the next got as far as his forehead and cowlicked hair. Sephiroth let him paint him, white on white, tongue out, licking and sucking the last few drops from the tip of his twitching cock. Lazard panted like he’d just run up the stairwell from the atrium to the archives, shivering to watch Sephiroth crack one eye open – fuck, Lazard really hadn’t meant to come on his eyelashes, but some had run over his eyebrow on the right side – and swipe up some of the cum running down his cheek with his thumb. Lazard’s balls and the bottom of his belly gave up one more lazy squeeze as he watched Sephiroth wipe his face and lick the semen off his fingers, content as a couerl with a canary.
"You’re amazing,“ he sighed, flopping down on the bed, boneless and bliss-tired. “I’m not sure I can move, but let me do something for you…”
“Mmm.” Sephiroth just smiled, rustling around in the bedside drawer for lube and one of the mako-resistant SOLDIER condoms. “Moving shouldn’t be necessary. Just roll over and cross your ankles. It’s been awhile since I fucked your thighs…”