Date: 2009-06-30 22:53 Subject: FFVII Fic: On Air (1/1) PG13 Security: Public Mood: mischievous Tags: chaos, crack!fic, fandom: ffvii, fic, genesis

On Air
by SkyFire (rabid_plotbunny)

Rating: PG13
Pairing: Genesis & (surprise) (m/m)
Summary: A trip to Modeoheim ends up a lot different than when it started. Or: 'Genesis walks into a bar...' (FFVII:CC timeline - sort of)
Warnings: I'm sure there must be some, but I'm not sure what... O_o;;

Notes: The first two parts of this ficlet were written within a couple of days back in November. The last part was written tonight, so if you see a sudden change of tone, that's why. The plot, such as it is, didn't change, though... ~-^

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII and no money is being made.



The leaves danced in the mountain winds; orange and faded green and red and gold fluttering in the breeze, fluttered to the ground under the influence of the stronger gusts to pile against walls and other objects in bright, colorful piles.

The town was small, boasted barely over a dozen buildings in all, a tiny outpost in the middle of nowhere on the side of a mountain.

The biggest building was the factory-slash-bath at the edge of the town. Not surprising, since Shinra had built it. It had been quite a while since it was new, though, and was it run down, its equipment outdated and in need of retrofitting and maintenance. Also not atypical of the Shinra company.

The second biggest building in the little town was the inn. That was where most of the Shinra personnel chose to live, since none of them considered the little backwater a permanent post. Turnaround at the factory was about six months; not enough to warrant buying an entire house when it was so much cheaper to stay at the inn.

The inn might have rated second in terms of size, but in terms of popularity, it was second to none. Most likely because it also housed the village tavern; the only place in the entire town to get a drink of something other than water.

That was where Genesis was now. He'd been holding up the bar for most of the day and had an impressive collection of empty glasses in front of him. It was even more impressive when you considered the fact that those were just the ones that the bartender hadn't gotten around to picking up yet. In his first hour there, he'd drunk enough to send any unmodified person into a severe alcohol-poisoning coma.

He'd gone to the little backwater as soon as he had heard. He'd gone to the bath house. He'd seen the corpses of those monsters that hadn't dissolved into the lifestream for whatever reason. He'd seen the marks, the slashed walls, the evidence of a fight in almost every room. He'd found The Room.

Angeal's body was gone, but he knew the second he walked in to the room that that was where his childhood friend had died. Could pinpoint the exact spot, could have even without the dried, rusty blood that had puddled on the floor. He'd seen the bloody smears on the floor, the partial handprints, and knew that that was where Angeal's Puppy had knelt after he'd killed his mentor, where he'd most likely cried and wished that it was only an illusion, that that Angeal had been a mere clone and not the real thing, even though in his heart he would have known better.

Genesis hoped Zack had to live with that pain, that guilt, that sense of betrayal that had to have been born in him as he cut the bigger man down, for a very long time. Or at least until Genesis could catch up to him and vent his own pain on him. How dare he kill Genesis' one true friend, the only one that had been there for him no matter what?

But that kind of revenge was for later. Now, he was attempting to dull the empty ache inside with the help of a bottle of -- he peered at the label of the bottle in front of him, but couldn't make out anything but the alcohol content -- whatever he was drinking. It was times like those that he soundly cursed his enhancements. There he was, not enhanced enough to kick Sephiroth's perfect, smug behind, yet too enhanced for the alcohol to have a noticeable effect, even in the quantities he was drinking. Ah, well. At least he was charging the bill to a Shinra account. Wouldn't Palmer be surprised when he checked his department's expense accounts, only to find a very large bill from a bar in Modeoheim?




Genesis barely looked over as someone plunked themselves down on the stool next to him, then froze, shook his head, and looked again.

Wow. And people said that he was flamboyant?

The stranger was an undead sort of pale, for all that he somehow managed to radiate health and power. He was dressed, if you could even still call it that, in little scraps of fabric and metal that looked as if he'd gone three rounds in a cage full of dragonets. There was not much there at all, and Genesis could only wonder how the man - for it was obvious now that it was a man - had managed not to freeze off anything important. It was awfully cold outside, after all, and a storm seemed to be blowing in. Then again, this was Modeoheim, stuck on the side of a mountain. When was a storm not blowing in? On his feet were a sturdy, if rather odd, pair of brass-covered boots that were surprisingly whole compared to the rest of his so-called clothing, and on his head was some sort of head scarf that rose up into his long dark hair almost like the licking tongues of flames. And were those wings...?

It was as he subtly craned his head to get a better look at the wings - more akin to a bat's than to his own, he could now see - that he noticed that the stranger had noticed him noticing, and was now staring back at him with almost metallic golden eyes, obviously amused.

A faint blush flooding his cheeks, Genesis turned abruptly back to the bar, staring at the drink in the glass that was still clutched in one hand. He couldn't believe he'd been caught staring like some backwater yokel. Though come to think of it, Banora wasn't exactly a metropolis...

He shook off that thought. So he had come from some backwater town. So what? He was cultured, sophisticated! He'd read seven different translations of Loveless and seen the play by Forrester twenty-seven times! He'd even seen the short-lived musical rendition featuring the all-crossdressing cast! If that wasn't the height of sophistication, he didn't know what was!

A deep chuckle from beside him let him know beyond a shadow of a doubt that his embarrassment had been seen, noted. He'd have been incensed and out for blood if the sound hadn't done strange things to his insides. He stared at his drink. Had he actually managed to reach that 'one too many'?




Well, if he had reached that point, there was absolutely no reason not to go further, was there? Considering the first impression he must have given, it wasn't like he could make himself look any worse....

Thus resolved, Genesis turned on his stool to openly face the odd - and oddly intriguing - man beside him. Mako-blue eyes met amused gold, then he spoke. "I'm Drink, would you like something to genesis?" The moment his mouth closed on the last syllable and his brain caught up with it his face flushed a deep red that clashed exquisitely with the red of his coat. He could feel his face heat up with mortification, his ears burning. What had he been thinking about being unable to make himself look any more the fool? If his foot went any further into his mouth, he'd be swallowing his knee! "I mean, I'm Genesis. Me. Not the drink. Though with all the names of them, it wouldn't surprise me if there was one. Then again, they'd probably name it after Sephiroth instead. Stupid Sephiroth, always hogging my glory! I'll bet he stole my drink, too, the-!"

A small, slightly more sober part of his brain was figuratively banging its head against the wall and bemoaning the fact that he, who claimed some level of scholarship and sophistication, was babbling like an idiot. Or a drunk. Great.

"Do you want one? A drink, I mean?"

Traces of amusement were now visible on that oddly grey-skinned face. One hand, clad in the most interesting golden metal glove the redhead had ever seen, reached over and plucked his mostly-full glass from in front of him and pulled it over. A sniff, one slim brow rising abruptly, then the drink was tossed back, the glass emptied down that prefect throat like it was water instead of a drink whose fumes alone could probably drop an unenhanced man after a good whiff.

"Oh," Genesis almost meeped, eyes wide, the hard heat of his blush moving south and changing into another sort of heat altogether. He shifted slightly on his stool in an effort to ease the sudden warm ache. He swallowed unsteadily, stared unseeing down at the glass that was plunked back down in front of him, then to the unusual man who was making his thoughts far too X-rated for comfort. After a moment, he looked back to the stranger, eyes burning with a passion he was almost infamous for, though it was most often expressed in other ways. "You. Me. Bed. Wanna?"

Oh yeah, if there was any doubt before that he had reached that 'one' and beyond, they were definitely gone now.

A wry smile twisted dark lips, and was that a hint of a fang? "I'm sorry," came the voice, soft and low, but echoing with an unspoken strength, power, and assurance that made the redhead want to melt on the spot. "But I only play with beings with wings." Those leathery wings fluttered once in emphasis before falling still once more.

The rustling was easily heard, drawing attention to the fact that while they had been tiptoeing around each other, everyone else had taken the opportunity to high-tail it out of there. They were alone in the tavern; not even the bartender had stayed.

Even if they had been there, though, between the drink and the lusty heat surging through him, Genesis would have done it anyway. As it was, there wasn't even a minute's hesitation. He smirked at the other man's attempt at a let-down, then unfurled his own wing.

Inky-black feathers drifted down around them as his wing revealed itself. He stretched it out, easing the cramping slightly, then met molten golden eyes with his own burning blue. Standing took a bit more effort than he was used to but he found his wing automatically helping him to compensate for the way the floor was rocking and he stood tall and proud. He offered one red-gloved hand to the other man with a predatory smile. "Shall we?"

Smirking at the redhead with a feral heat that more than matched his own, the golden-gloved hand slipped almost delicately into his. The grey-skinned beauty stood with inhuman grace, seemingly unaffected by the shaking of the earth, and stepped closer. Hot puffs of air that carried a faint, almost brimstone scent, puffed against his cheek. "We shall," came the purred reply.

Together, the two men walked out of the tavern. Once outside, wings spread.

Genesis, standing easier now that his system had had a few minutes to work on processing the alcohol he had consumed, was just about to take to the air when he noticed that the other man was staring at him again, eyes glinting with equal parts heat, challenge, and mischief. "What is it?" he asked.

That molten golden gaze was positively wicked as the man spoke. "Have you ever done it in mid-air?" he asked. Then, without waiting for a reply, powerful wings propelled him upward with a flurry of colorful leaves.

Genesis, for his part, was still just drunk enough to follow.

END


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