This is the quickest thing I've ever written, and possibly the silliest. By hey, it's crackfic. :D
Title: Stuffed Toys and Swords.
Fandom: Final Fantasty VII
Word count: 810
Pairing: Cait Sith/Sephiroth.
Summary: Because really, no one understand the beauty of their relationship.
Relationships, the general had decided, were not that different from battle; there was a silent code of conduct that only the petty would break, and things rarely went as you hoped. As long as he kept that in mind, he felt as if he could deal with it.
In his relationship, like any other, there were a great number of difficulties to overcome, certain… problems, unique to his situation.
The first to arise was what should be the foundation of any solid and lasting relationship; communication. Luckily for him, his partner was the talkative type, and would go on for hours about nothing in particular, much to the general’s dismay. And yet no matter how much he spoke, Cait Sith found it difficult to actually get a conversation going because, although he would never say it to his face, Sephiroth had all the social skills of a plank of wood, and an especially thick one at that.
Sephiroth’s idea of conversation consisted of nods and grunts, but soon Cait discovered that there was one topic that his lover could not resist participating in—the topic of Hojo, or to be precise, how much Hojo failed at life. The cat wasn’t sure if it was some sort of weird Electra complex or not, but the seven foot Masamune had convinced him not to ask.
And yet compared to the mere thought of physical contact, conversation seemed like bliss.
Cait Sith and Sephiroth both remember the fated day on which they shared their first ‘kiss’ all too well.
Really, Cait Sith wasn’t sure what had come over him, wasn’t sure whether it was lust or pure insanity—looking back on it, it seemed more like stupidity. He sat on the edge of the bed in silence for as long as he could stand, until he finally snapped and grabbed Sephiroth’s hair with his little gloves, pulled himself up and fumbled his lips against the general’s.
Sephiroth’s eyes widened as he pushed Cait off of him, and a disturbed look crossed his usually blank face as he spat out a few stray hairss that the cat had left behind.
“Ach,” Cait murmured as he wiped his own mouth clean.
“Cat,” Sephiroth began painfully slowly, gritting his teeth as he spoke. “If you ever—ever—do that again, I assure you, your nine lives will not last you very long.”
Being well accustomed to Sephiroth’s threats Cait could not take him seriously. That was one good thing about being with Cait—no one could ever use the abuse card when Sephiroth callously threw him against the wall, or tossed a fire spell or two his way, because Cait just couldn’t feel it.
“What I think, lad, is that you just have intimacy issues.”
“It’s true, nay? I mean, you’re with me, but never with me. And that sword of yours must be compensation for something.”
Sephiroth gave Cait a glare that must have knocked off at least four of his lives, and he slunk back in his seat. Strangely, the look soon turned to hard determination, and before he knew what had happened, Sephiroth had picked him up by his two ears and pulled him close.
Their second kiss was a little more successful.
Sex, on the other hand, was the biggest issue.
Being less than half a meter tall, it was clear to both of them that it would never happen in the traditional way; it did happen though, but not too much can really be said without getting into distressing details. It was the stuff of nightmares, really. All that Sephiroth would say was that mechanics and fur make for an interesting combination; and all that Cait had to say was that parts of him were deceptively difficult to stitch up again.
And Sephiroth was not without his share of fetishes either; it seemed the SOLDIER liked to be called ‘sir’ on both the battle field and in the bedroom, so much so that he even had a tiny Shinra uniform made for Cait. Personally, Cait never saw the appeal in submissive and dominate roles, but at the end of the day it kept Sephiroth happy, and so he strived to get his stance just right and to make the perfect salute.
And so happily most of their difficulties were overcome; overcome, that is, until Cait made one of those little mistakes he so very often did.
“Sephiroth—sir, that is—I…”
“You what, Sith?”
“I love you.”
Well, that was one problem the couple never did manage to conquer; not that it mattered much, anyway. No matter how many times Sephiroth cut the cat in two, Reeve would always sigh, obligated to spend his nights making more and more Cait’s for the general.
It was odd, improbable, and as some might say, sick, but it was love.