Final Fantasy VII Sebastiane, FF7 style

Title: Sebastiane FF7 style

Author: Chephren

Summary: Vincent is the captain of the royal guard and the king's favorite, snubbed and sentenced to a remote outpost in the middle of nowhere. *singsong* Yaaaaaaaoi! AU... some kind of strange FF7-very, VERY loose Ancient Rome-type crossover.

Pairing: Vincent and Sephiroth

Charas: Vincent, Zack, Sephiroth and more to come as I think of them. XD

Rating: M, most definitely

Warning: A bit of violence and angst this chap. Will come up with warnings as they come up. Eventual yaoi smex and there will be some violence, sadistic as well as masochistic, be warned. I'll try to make it beautiful.

Disclaimer: Neither story nor bishis mine. Just celebrating them.

_A/N: So I saw this movie a few weeks ago called Sebastiane. It was made in 1976 by by Derek Jarman, and it was a totally boy love film. Not a woman in sight, except for the first scene. The crazy thing was that, while you wouldn't expect a movie like this to do so well, that gayness might not have been accepted back then, it was a gorgeous movie and somehow very natural. Very sad too... Anyways, I couldn't just watch it and let go, I had to share it with you... mind you, in a light brush over the plot and only the highlights... plus I'll tweak some things. If you watch it, there may be some obvious things that I misinterpret, but I do so to make the yaoi more delicious. XD I am a bit sporadic as a solo writer, as you can no doubt tell. I just started writing this one and am not too sure about details yet to keep from procrastinating any longer on it. It's like, 'oh boy, I should write something' but on the other hand, I have a hell of a lot of other things to do too, but still, I chose to write this time. Here is a start at least, in a language that we can understand... ff7 bishis. XDDD_

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

The sounds of revelry echoed throughout the ancient palace on a warm summer night. Mother Moon was at her highest and most radiant, full as the palest bosom. She watched over her children carousing below as the king and courtiers indulged themselves in one of His Majesty's frequent bacchanals, this one to celebrate the birth of the Sun and His Majesty's 20 year anniversary on the throne, the 25th night of the Twelfth Month. Though her children did not take notice of her, she did not mind, for they were only children and did not know... They did not know, save one...

His Majesty, the old king, was seated on his golden throne in all his finery, waved a pale hand adorned with large gems. The company in attendance looked on, compelled, as into the room danced a group of six young men, painted from head to toe in white. They came in to the beat of tribal drums not of this culture. From somewhere else in the room, they were accompanied by a voice chanting in another language, about what, no one really knew, nor did they care as it was simply for sensual stimulation and the company was much too pretentious to question it, for it must be the newest, most popular thing to feature at one's parties these days if His Majesty thought so.

Round and round they whirled, their pale bodies spinning and masks covering their youthful faces. One in particular, a beautiful boy with his head shaved bald danced in the center. All made up with ruby red dyes, he looked almost grotesque with his ruby lips and cheeks, his tongue flickering out to flirt with his audience. The members of the dancing mob were all adorned with large sculpted phalluses and they danced madly around him, as he, this little youth, was the chosen prize of the evening.

The prize's eyes went wide and his face lit up in breathless excitement as one of the others slid their monumental erection between his thighs from behind and they moved together until the prize grew faint and fell into the other's arms. His crowd of erect admirers encircled him, gently lowering him to the tiled floor and they all began to sway and writhe together in one massive swell.

The old king's tongue slipped out to moisten his lips, only then noticing his favorite enter the room. Catching the young man's eyes immediately, as it was expected, for he was the king, the grand monarch beckoned his faithful servant near.

"Ah Vincenze, come to me, child," he said quietly, not bothering to raise his voice above the din. Vincent made his way there, not daring to disobey. It was quite well-understood that the dark haired beauty, captain of the royal guard, and gifted with the rarest ruby eyes, was adored by His Majesty and was in the eye.

Dressed in classical style with a laurel atop his head, Vincent adjusted it as he approached. The abrupt sight of the prized, painted young man being showered with the seed of his many theatrical admirers caused him to stop short and a furious blush came to his cheeks. He hadn't much experience with this sort of thing, being a celibate man, but he never questioned his liege's preferences. Indeed, this evening, His Majesty seemed quite... something... It was a something that made Vincent feel a little uncomfortable...

He came to stand beside the heavy golden throne, still blushing as he tried not to watch the spectacle. The young man seemed overjoyed to be covered in the white glistening stuff, and though he found it repulsive, the good captain could not help but feel oddly curious.

"Vincenze..." the monarch drawled, putting his hands on either side of Vincent's face, pulling him close for a kiss.

"At your service, Your Majesty," Vincent leaned near to kiss the man on the mouth, as was customary, followed by two on either side of thick, wet lips. The king surprised him however when he took one more, dead-center, long and slow and it would not do if the youth tried to push him away.

When the raven haired man finally got breath again, he gave a small bow to the old sovereign. "And how is Your Majesty faring tonight?"

"Bah," the old king deflected. His feet were hurting and his bowel movements were few these days... Urinating was hell and his two scavenging adult sons seemed well aware of that... Shame Vincent wasn't the fruit of his loins... He would be a son any father could be proud of... well, it was only _half _a shame... for he was far too pretty a thing for a father to want for his son after all. "You like the show, boy?" His watery eyes darted from his young svelte captain of the guard to the festivities. The prize was even now being lifted, wet and happy, over one a strong white shoulder, carried off parts of the palace unknown. "If this is to your taste, I know an old man who would take you to his chamber tonight." His gaze turned perverse as it wandered down a thick armored breastplate.

Vincent cleared his throat uncomfortably and he shifted away from the king's directed touch. "That is very kind, Sire... but you know very well, I've sworn too keep my body pure in the name of the Goddess." A small, reverent smile pulled at his lips. To her, he would always remain faithful.

"Ah, you and your talk of goddesses," the king waved his hand in exasperation. "We have plenty of patron goddesses here, all much older than yours, who would not be so stingy with your virtue... "

Just as he was certainly about to give an unobjectionable order, some of his lower guards brought in a young boy, painted gold like many of the living gold statues looming gracefully around the room, subject to the leers and touches of the esteemed guests.

Stopping his conversation in its tracks, the king nodded to Vincent and the young man bowed, descending the steps to address his subordinate.

"Report," he said stoically, not daring to show his relief at the incredible timing, but his manner was now much more relaxed.

"Captain, His Majesty's bedchamber was set on fire only a few moments ago. We managed to put out the flames and save most everything but we found _this..." _he shook the child demonstratively before continued, "trying to escape."

Crimson eyes shifted down aghast at the teen, who even then tried to scramble away from the fearsome captain.

"Sir, I didn't do it," he cried, "It wasn't me, I swear!"

The other guard piped up, grabbing him by the nape of his neck, addressing the king now. "He's a child of the Goddess, Sire... and he's been reported meeting with the culprits of the last fires, also children of the Goddess..."

Vincent didn't like where this was going at all. "Sire," he spoke quickly, approaching the throne. "Please, spare him. I will take it upon myself to see this child reformed."

The king looked at him, his withered jaw tightening as he considered it. "Come to my chamber tonight and I shall grant you this boon." It was striking evidence to his regard for his favorite as he offered him a choice, rather than the order, rather than taking him by force here in front of everyone.

"Sire, you know I cannot do that," Vincent replied softly, sinking to his knees in front of his liege. "Please..."

"Then what has your Goddess ever done for me except set my house on fire... and four times no less," the king balled his fingers into fists. "Request denied. I think that a turn in the desert, under the harshest conditions, shall force you to take a good look at your faith and surely make you change your mind. I have treated you well here. Guards, kill the scamp. Strip Vincent of his rank and attire and deliver him to the furthest outpost of my realm, Murus..." His last words were to his pet directly, "where we shall nevermore see thy face!"

Vincent was stunned as he saw his young comrade-in-faith bludgeoned over the head and one of the court shamans bite him savagely on the neck, drawing strong gushes of blood. The boy's eyes closed and his mouth fell open as if in death, but perhaps he had only passed out... for now. It did not look as though, with so many people around, they would go easy on him. An example would be made and for the sake of all the subjects who were afraid of the Goddess and her followers, a witch hunt might arise...

The blow to his own head was sudden and hard, knocking his laurel to the floor. His vision darkened his long dark hair fell into his eyes and all around him and he felt himself being dragged away.

He awoke with a dull ache to his skull as well as the rest of his body. His gilt armor was gone and all he wore now was a plain brown tunic and a leather undercloth. His feet were bare for the moment as he lay in the back of a moving, heavy duty wooden cart that was covered to transport military troops. Only the occasional snorts of the horses and the whistling of their unknown driver could be heard. Vincent attempted to sit up in his scratchy bed of hay, wanting to pull his legs under him to make ready to try and flee the cart and run off to freedom. However, his arms and ankles were bound to it and he could not adequately reach to free himself.

"Don't even think about trying to escape now. We're almost there anyways and the king sent word ahead to expect you at Murus so a search party would be organized if you ran off," a voice spoke out from the darkness of the cart.

"I am to be an ordinary soldier once I get there, correct?" he asked carefully.

"You're an ordinary soldier _now_," the voice said smugly with a low chuckle, to which Vincent was not at all amused. "Should've thought more carefully about whatever it was you thought you were doing in the first place. It doesn't do to fall out of the king's eye, boy."

Vincent didn't answer but he didn't try to escape either. He would bear his punishment like a man and try to earn his place once more by his own merit, just as he had the first time. It was only right and he was a man of very strong morals. Plus, this was not a kingdom of many artisans. Everything was functional and they imported many of their fine goods via conquered territories. Besides fighting, he didn't know what else he was suited for...

"We're here," the voice chimed as the carriage stopped. As a set of sandaled feet hit the dusty desert ground, footsteps walked round to doors in front of them. Bright, almost blinding light met their eyes and another voice softer, spoke to them.

"Welcome to Murus, the end of the world." The softer voice seemed chipper... rather peppy. A young man with dark, spiky hair stood there as Vincent's cellmate wasted no time in untying his bonds. Reflexively, the captive's hands rose to massage over his sore wrists, eyeing marks on them which were almost as red as his eyes.

"Aww, the little soldier get hurt?" the deep voice mocked him from behind as the youth in front of him handed him a pair of leather sandals to wear.

"No," Vincent replied defensively but he said no more as he put them on. He would not sink so easily to teasing.

"Zack, better take him to the Captain. I'll have a rest tonight and then depart in the morning."

"Aye sir," the youth said good-naturedly and patted Vincent smartly on the back. "I'm Zachariah... Zack for short. We're all grunts out here, aside from the Captain."

"Nice to meet you," Vincent replied but his heart wasn't in it. He didn't really have any family but the city had been his home... the palace barracks, and later the palace itself, all he had known. He was feeling uncomfortable, strange in this foreign place and maybe a little homesick.

Looking around the barren landscape, it was all sand and rock and harsh sunlight. The outpost was settled near the one oasis the eye could see. The only greenery was found here around a large waterfall. Otherwise, there was nothing for miles except for the occasional shrub or family of cacti. This was nothing compared to the lush gardens of the palace near the ocean.

Vincent sighed softly but didn't let the sound be heard. He rarely showed his emotions to strangers.

"Like it?" Zack chuckled. There was something to be said for his positive outlook. It would be impossible to silently angst away here.

Vincent coughed.

"Yeah, that's what they all say," Zack said, grinning. He led Vincent through the front gate, past a group of men who were gathering food in the shade of the kitchen, taking it with them to the soldier's mess.

"I'll introduce you to them later. First, you should report to Captain Sephiroth."

Vincent nodded, following the youth to a table set apart from the others off in its own alcove. This was the centurion's own private dining area. Seated at the small round table, there was a stately young man, just around Vincent's age, immersed in his meal. When he heard the sound of their sandaled feet on the stone floor, his eyes shifted to appraise them. Vincent stopped short as he found himself gazing into the most remarkable emerald eyes... They stared at him from under a copper helmet, which glinted in striking opposition with the most unusual hair color he'd ever seen. It was silver. From out of the back of the helmet stuck a long silver tail of hair tied back that hung down to pool on the floor as he sat there.

Once the man had swallowed his food down, he set down his meat.

"Report," he said solemnly but his eyes were on Vincent's and not on Zack. The dark man assumed that he hadn't seen red eyes before, as few had.

Zack cleared his throat. "Yes, Captain, here is the recruit we were told of, Vincent, who is to be stationed here from now on."

Sephiroth nodded. "I tolerate no insubordination here, boy," he murmured, though he and Vincent were of an age.

"Aye, sir," the dark one replied respectfully.

"Get yourself cleaned up and join us for food. You'll train with the rest of the men in the morning. Nothing much happens out here now that we are the world power, but it is our duty to remain fit."

"Aye, sir," Vincent said again and with a wave of his new superior's hand, Zack shuffled them out.

Out in the courtyard of the small fort, the fresh-faced youth led him to the well in the very center of it.

"Here's some water," he said. "Come join us in the mess when you've finished and I'll show you the barracks and get you some gear."

Vincent nodded and grabbed the wooden bucket, reaching into fill it with water. Reaching up, he pulled the leather tie that bound his raven hair loose, letting it fall, thick and unruly, down his back. Nervously, he got undressed, as he was accustomed to at least being in a somewhat enclosed space, but he remembered that before his private captain's quarters, he'd really had no privacy to begin with in the barracks, so he just swallowed his modesty and went about his business.

From inside his alcove, the captain worked on finishing his meal. The splashing of water as the first bucketful was spilled over naked skin drew his attention and his eyes focused on his meal at first until curiosity couldn't dissuade him any further. Glancing up at the scene before him, he could see a nervous young man there, only a few yards away, bare and vulnerable, as water cascaded down his body. Slow, clear wet droplets dribbled and splashed over taut muscle, every inch of his new recruit perfect in its masculinity.

Those stunning ruby eyes had fallen closed and the head slowly tilted back as the water fell over it. Very carefully, as if not to touch himself too much, Vincent picked up a bar of olive oil soap, rubbing it over his lean form, not thinking too much about where it had been, only that it cleansed him.

The centurion's body tensed as he slowly raised his glass to drink. He had used that very bar of soap all over him in the same fashion. It had touched his own skin and now it was touching the dark's man's as well... A unintentional shiver of excitement ran up the captain's spine as he froze with his glass to his lips. He had always been such a fierce leader, whom no one questioned and though many had lusted after him, no one had won... at least as far as it was known, so whether he had felt desire for anyone before, male or female, no one could truly guess. However, the feeling surfacing, pulling at his insides right now, that was pure and very real desire.

Vincent sighed softly again, seemingly lost in feeling as he readied himself for another pail full of water to splash over him as he was unaware that he was an object of interest right now. Silently watching from the shadows, the captain's eyes were drawn lower and lower as he noticed Vincent's hands descending to rub over a soft, thin treasure trail and then a glistening shaft. The youth's penis began to respond as Vincent carefully tended to it. Though he did try to soap it in a completely sterile manner, the friction was too much to bear on his virtually untouched skin and he found himself wanting to indulge every time he did so.

_Only once_, he told himself, and he gave it an experimental tug. It wrung a gasp from his lips and he blushed furiously, opening his eyes to make sure he had not been seen. The other soldiers didn't seem too fazed by it, having had their fill of the new guy and once more immersed in conversation about bedding beautiful women in town as soon as they didn't have to serve anymore. He had completely forgotten about Captain Sephiroth, who was still obviously watching him.

Quickly finishing his bath with a couple of final rinses, Vincent dressed and joined the other soldiers in the mess.

Sephiroth finished up his meal and left the table abruptly. One of his subordinates would handle them later. For now, he himself needed a cold shower. Fortunately, for his leather studded tunic, no one could really tell.

TBC prolly.

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><p><em>Are you enjoying so far?<em>


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