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It started sometime after Advent Day, Cloud was sure of it. He just couldn’t place when.
He’d been so caught up in rebuilding efforts, in finally dealing with his grief and guilt, in resuming his delivery service, that he didn’t realize it was happening at all.
It wasn’t until he finally had a day off, a day where he could take a break from it all and rest, that the feeling that had likely been building in him since that fateful day finally boiled over.
Cloud had gone to visit Aerith’s church, to polish the Buster Sword and talk to old friends. Instead, he found himself climbing to the rooftop, staring out at the sky long after the sun had set, looking up at the stars and longing.
He’d always thought Sephiroth was being dramatic when he talked about wanting to “sail the cosmos,” but now that he was feeling it too, he wasn’t sure if it was dramatic after all.
He didn’t know what to do about it, who to ask about his sudden urge.
It scared him, really. He didn’t want any of his friends to freak out, didn’t want to cause a mass panic if it somehow got out that Gaia’s savior, the man who had killed Sephiroth, now longed for the same thing the silver menace once had.
Eventually, he managed to pin down Vincent so they could talk. He wasn’t subtle at all in his prodding (no amount of “asking for a friend” could get around the fact that he was the only one who could possibly be experiencing something like this, let alone the fact that he had no friends to speak of outside of Avalanche), but Vincent took pity on him enough that he didn’t call him out on it.
Vincent’s suggestion about what was going on was… plausible. It was probably the closest to the truth that they would get. But that didn’t mean that Cloud had to like it.
He really didn’t like it.
Essentially, Vincent had posed the idea that with Sephiroth gone, Jenova’s head destroyed, and any lingering remains of her cells either completely cleansed or thoroughly diffused, Cloud now had the highest concentration of J-cells out of any living creature on the planet.
Essentially, he was a mini Jenova.
He now felt the same instincts that those of her kind likely did, hence the urge to pick up where Sephiroth had left off and take the planet for a joyride through space.
It was a distressing revelation, to say the least, but at least he had some answers.
Not that he knew what to do with them.
It was an adjustment, realizing that he was essentially becoming some strange Jenova-like thing (as if he wasn’t that already).
Oddly enough, the guilt that he expected to feel never came. But if this was in his nature now, should he even feel guilty for something that he couldn’t help?
So long as he ignored his new urges, ignored the longing feeling he got every time he glanced up at the night sky, there would never be a reason to feel guilty about what he was becoming.
But worse than the rather dramatic need to use the planet as his personal space ship was the sudden awareness that he was alone.
Not in the literal sense, of course. He was surrounded by thousands of people in Edge, and even when his deliveries brought him to more isolated areas, there were still people to be found if he traveled for long enough in any one direction.
It wasn’t only strangers who kept him company. He had friends. He had a wonderful group of friends, in fact, and even though the times where they all got together were rare, Cloud savored every moment spent with them. He spent the most time with Tifa and the kids, naturally, but he still enjoyed it when he got the chance to catch up with one of the others.
So why was it, if he had friends all over Gaia—one of whom he lived with—and was surrounded by people at all times on top of that, that he felt so cripplingly alone?
Some days were worse than others. Sometimes he’d wake up with only the vaguest of feelings that he was alone, and other days he was hit with such crippling loneliness that he could barely function.
He was longing for something other than the cosmos alright, but he had no idea what it was.
Or rather who it was, since he always felt so damn lonely.
It didn’t matter anyway. Just like the other weird feelings he’d started experiencing, he’d learn to ignore this too.
It hit him like a sack of bricks a few days later.
Obviously the thing he was longing for was Sephiroth, because when was he not creating problems for Cloud? Even when he was dead, Sephiroth still found ways to fuck with him.
He was mad and angry and even a little bit guilty about his sudden realization, because what in Hel’s name was wrong with him?
Was this reunion? Some sort of weird, fucked up J-cell-induced mating instincts? Something else entirely (something worse, his actual real feelings for Sephiroth)?
Cloud didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, either. Knowing might mean facing some… uncomfortable truths about himself and his relationship with Sephiroth, and he wasn’t unpacking any of that anytime soon.
The only thing worse than longing for Sephiroth was the other instincts he began to develop that also centered around him.
Some mornings he woke up irrationally horny, and all he could think of was that stupid bastard and his perfect hair and smoldering eyes. Other mornings he woke in the aftermath, his boxers soaked beyond saving. He felt insatiable, almost out of control, and whether he was horny or not, the only thing he could think about was Sephiroth.
It was becoming unbearable. Especially the days where he was so badly affected that he couldn’t do anything but jerk off all day, coming more times than even he thought possible, mako-enhanced libido and all. It had gotten so bad that he’d had to move out of Seventh Heaven and into a shitty little apartment of his own because there was no way in Hel he was going to expose Tifa and the kids to that.
But there was no solution in sight, short of bringing Sephiroth back from the dead and saddling him with all of this bullshit instead. And Cloud wasn’t willing to do that even if it was possible—it wasn’t—no matter how bad his newfound instincts got.
He found himself with strange urges too, both sexual and not. He didn’t even want to think about some of the crazy stuff his mind started craving on certain days.
Other than weird alien sex there was the urge to eat the monsters he killed (sometimes while still alive, always raw), his newfound ability to mimic his chocobos and trill back at them (much to their delight), and his sudden cravings for mako.
That last one had gotten so bad that he had to avoid Mideel altogether now, the hot springs there having become far too tempting. He even sometimes found himself eyeing his materia, wondering if he could crack them open and suck the energy out of them, even though he knew that wasn’t how materia worked at all.
Even if he ignored the fact that he was particularly sensitive to mako, eating the stuff was sure to kill him. But try telling his new instincts that.
So was Cloud coping? Somewhat. Was he dealing with this? Poorly. Was he staying sane? Barely.
But he was coping better than Sephiroth ever had, and that was at least something.
The morning that Cloud woke up with a wing, all he could do was sigh.
Maybe he should’ve been surprised or horrified or even disgusted, but with everything else he’d been experiencing, growing a wing didn’t seem like the worst thing that could happen. Besides, he’d seen enough of Jenova’s mutated forms to count himself lucky that the limb he’d sprouted was a wing and not something worse.
There wasn’t any blood to clean up, at least. No pain either. He’d simply gone to bed as normal, and woken up the next day with a mouth full of feathers. And a painful erection. But that was neither here nor there.
And of course he didn’t get any of the cool powers. It felt a little wrong to be so blasé about it, but if he had to deal with being in this gods awful situation then he could feel however he wanted about it, dammit.
Sephiroth could summon Masamune out of nowhere. It seemed pretty convenient, actually. Cloud wouldn’t say he was jealous, but it was certainly infuriating that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t manage to summon his fusion sword in the same way.
Maybe it was because the sword was tied to Sephiroth’s soul or something. Cloud wasn’t sure exactly what the deal was with that, couldn’t remember if Sephiroth had had that ability before his first death, and he certainly wasn’t willing to ask anyone. It didn’t seem fair, given he’d practically put his soul into making the fusion sword, but when was anything fair when it came to Cloud and Sephiroth?
He couldn’t summon storms, either. Sephiroth was always so dramatic about it, his hair billowing out behind him in the wind he’d created. Cloud’s would probably end up looking like a half-dead chocobo, so maybe it was for the best.
As far as he could tell, he’d gotten the worse end of the deal. He was becoming something like Jenova 2.0, growing weirder and weirder over time, but didn’t even get most of the benefits that Sephiroth seemed to have, if you could even call them that.
At least it couldn’t get any worse than this.
It got worse.
Of course it did. He was Cloud Strife, and nothing went smoothly for him. He’d inherited his mother’s luck, according to Tifa, the family name never failing to haunt him.
But that wasn’t the only thing that haunted him, though maybe that wasn’t the best word for it now.
After all, if the ghost that usually haunted him was suddenly alive, it couldn’t really be called that anymore. Today really was shaping up to become the worst day of his life.
Sephiroth simply… appeared in his room that morning, and the only thing lucky about it was the fact that Cloud hadn’t been in the middle of masturbating to wild fantasies involving the man in question.
It didn’t stop him from losing it at his sudden appearance, though.
”What in Hel’s name are you doing here? I thought I killed you!” For lack of anything better to use as a weapon, Cloud began hurling pillows from his bed at Sephiroth.
Sephiroth looked unfazed, and oddly unamused. That wasn’t like him. Usually when he appeared he was all irritating and smug about it, and he should be much more pleased with himself after triggering such a colorful reaction from Cloud.
And where was his sword? It was strange to see Sephiroth standing in the middle of his room, no wind pulling at his hair, no Masamune in his hand. What was he playing at, and why did he have to appear when Cloud was still half naked in bed?
”What a presumptuous thing to ask when it is you who called me here,” Sephiroth growled out, his perfect features contorting into a scowl.
What.
”What?” The question slipped from his mouth without a second thought.
It was oddly terrifying to see Sephiroth standing there, stock still. He didn’t so much as move, didn’t come closer, didn’t do anything threatening. It was so much worse than if he’d gone straight for Cloud’s throat.
“You heard me. I’ve felt your longing for me, heard you calling. I wasn’t ready to return to you yet, Cloud. I haven’t decided yet on a suitable punishment for what you did to me the last time we met. So how dare you call me here like a dog?” Sephiroth was seething with rage, his eyes burning hotter than the fires that had shaped Cloud’s life all those years ago.
How dare he? How dare Sephiroth accuse him of the most insane shit he’d ever heard come out of that maniac’s mouth?
Cloud said nothing, instead choosing to watch Sephiroth closely, looking for any changes in his demeanor that would indicate he’d decided not to play nice after all.
A strange, not quite tense silence settled between them, only to be broken by the sound of Sephiroth… sniffing?
He was walking closer to Cloud now, and came to a stop next to his bed, still sniffing at the air like a guard hound. It was weird, some of the weirdest behavior he’d ever seen on Sephiroth, but there wasn’t much room for Cloud to judge given he’d been doing much weirder things than sniffing around over the last few months.
Finally, Sephiroth leaned in close, his nose almost touching Cloud’s throat. Cloud could only sit there frozen, still wrapped up in his sheets, unable to so much as move.
When Sephiroth pulled back from his neck, his anger had faded away. That was good. What was less good was that it had been replaced by his usual smugness, and oh, Cloud hadn’t missed that.
When Sephiroth spoke, his grin could practically be heard in his voice, “Oh Cloud, what have you gotten yourself into? What have you let yourself become?”
Cloud didn’t like what he was implying. As if this had been his choice, as if he’d allowed this to happen. Even though he’d come to accept it, he didn’t want to be this—whatever this was.
”It happened because you were gone, so don’t act like I did this to myself! I didn’t ask for this! It’s all you and these stupid J-cells!” He finally dropped his grip on his sheets, not caring if Sephiroth saw him without a shirt on. Preserving his dignity wasn’t worth the hit his pride was taking by cowering behind the covers like a child.
He didn’t miss the way that Sephiroth’s eyes instantly shot to his bare torso and stayed there, his slit pupils blowing out at the sight. Cloud chose to ignore it.
When Sephiroth finally was able to tear his eyes away from Cloud’s chest, he asked him a question that he hated, “Now whose fault is that? Last I recall, Cloud, I didn’t hurl myself into the Lifestream. If you’re blaming my absence for your predicament, then you have no one to blame but yourself.”
Cloud grit his teeth, not wanting to acknowledge that Sephiroth was right.
But Sephiroth wasn’t done, “Do you finally understand how I feel now? How deeply I long for you? I feel it in the marrow of my bones, in each and every one of our shared cells.”
He didn’t like that line of questioning either. “It’s obviously from the J-cells. With you and her both gone, of course they’d go haywire. Don’t read too much into it, because we’re not the same.”
Sephiroth chuckled, and the sound of it sent shivers down Cloud’s spine. From the way that that burning gaze snapped to his back, he was sure that his reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Poisonous green eyes met his once more, and Sephiroth continued with his deluded ideas, “Oh no Cloud, this is all you. Your cells have grown and changed, adapted and allowed you to become what you were always meant to be. I won’t deny that truth. But this isn’t Mother’s call or our reunion. We are intertwined, made for each other, so of course you long for me the way I’ve always longed for you. How does it feel?”
“Bad,” Cloud ground out from between gritted teeth.
In fact, he felt as if he was going to burst out of his skin. Sephiroth picked up on it, of course, because he always knew everything there was to know about Cloud. He didn’t hesitate to point it out, either. Cloud wanted to scream at him, but he knew it would only amuse him further.
”If you aren’t going to help me then just go away.” It was a demand and a plea all in one.
He didn’t expect Sephiroth to take him up on it, not really. Wouldn’t he rather watch Cloud suffer with these instincts, watch him squirm as he dealt with the intense longing he felt for the stars and Sephiroth both?
Apparently not.
“Sharing our cells will soothe the longing you feel. It will cement the connection between us even further. Don’t you want that Cloud?” He crooned, voice sickly sweet and potent as poison all at once.
And damn it all, Cloud did. He really, really did.
Hesitantly, Cloud nodded, and then Sephiroth was touching him.
The second that Sephiroth’s hand made contact with his face, Cloud's wing unfurled, completely out of his control. He was mad and embarrassed, and prepared to face down a smug Sephiroth, but that wasn’t what he was met with at all.
Sephiroth looked… entranced. His eyes were fixated on Cloud’s wing where it hung over his left shoulder, on feathers that were black as night. His pupils had gotten all wide again, and Cloud couldn’t take him seriously when he looked like that. Deep down, he found it incredibly arousing, but it was so much easier to tell himself that it made Sephiroth look like an oversized cat instead of how he really felt.
When Sephiroth finally regained his composure, he smiled at Cloud again. He seemed pleased, and all of that smugness had become something that looked knowing.
Suddenly, one of those long, elegant hands was buried in his wing, and a gasp tore its way out of Cloud before he could stop it. This had never featured in any of those strange fantasies.
“Here Cloud, let me help you,” Sephiroth crooned as he climbed his way onto the bed, pinning Cloud beneath him.
He did something with his free hand, some motion that Cloud didn’t quite catch, and then suddenly all of his clothes were gone. The sight was overwhelming, and Cloud didn’t know where to look first, but Sephiroth didn’t give him time to worry about that.
The bedsheets were pulled down from around Cloud’s waist, revealing the evidence that he certainly wasn’t unaffected by what was happening.
“I’ll make sure you’ll never have to long for me again,” Sephiroth murmured into Cloud’s ear. It went unsaid that it was because Sephiroth would never leave his side again.
Gasping for air, Cloud caught sight of something shiny and wet between Sephiroth’s legs, but he didn’t have time to react before Sephiroth sank down onto his cock, and all he could do in response was moan desperately at the wet heat that surrounded him.
The only thing Cloud would long for ever again was more of this.