"Sephiroth—"

My voice failed to carry as his lips collided with mine. His long arms slithered around my waist, his palms flattened against my back, his fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt, threatening to feel my flesh even through the barrier.

I can't breathe, I can't breathe—! The panic surged within me. He didn't let go of me. He never did. My fists pounded against his broad chest, yet he still didn't spare me from the collision. Have I ever wished for the delightful taste of Mako-contaminated air? I wondered on the brink of the moment, then I told myself, I do now.

Then, as abruptly as the kiss had been initiated, the chasm between us ensued. "Cloud," his contemptuously benign voice coated my eardrums, while his delicate fingers ghosted over my shirt, as though I were his most precious jewel.

"Stop it, Sephiroth," I warned, but in vain. I struggled futilely. I tried and tried, fruitlessly and hopelessly, to break free of this searing embrace. Then, Sephiroth dipped down, his breath cloyingly sweet and his silvery hair maddeningly soft against my cheeks. "I want you now, Cloud," he said, and that command was all that was needed for me to fall to my knees.

The creaking of the bed was too loud. The rustling of its sheets caused the skin on my back to flush. Still, Sephiroth gripped my chin to kiss me again. He was obsessed with that insignificant gesture. What's so special about a kiss, anyway?

Long ago, wise men believed that the act of kissing was a curse. They believed it would rob you of your soul.

His melodious whisper echoed in my mind. With a tilt of my head, I glared up at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"Isn't it clear?" His quiet chuckle faded away behind my gasps. I gripped his shoulders, my fingers digging into his taut muscles. I needed something to hold onto—something that would keep me sane through all this.

"It's clear—" I gasped out again; I could feel my long lashes fluttering as Sephiroth's azure eyes greedily followed their movements, "—that you're mad, Sephiroth."