Crossover Supernatural/Final Fantasy VII/Kingdom Hearts I, Dean/Cloud, «Let me b
[[Sorry, no real Zack/Cloud hints, here, but Peg did a bang up job with Zak earlier, so he's not neglected!]]
There were a lot of things that Dean Winchester had figured he’d never ever do in his life. Sex with a supernatural creature that might or might not be a demon (and was definitely male) kind of had been towards the top of that hypothetical list. Dean had liked the ladies, thank you very much (and blessed be the boobs) and dipping his wick into the evil pot had never struck him as a very good idea, even at his most hormonal.
But really, it wasn’t like they could send him to hell when he’d already been there when Cloud found him. Cloud had homed in on Dean like some overgrown bleached-blond bat because apparently in the depths of Hell, one guy screaming his lungs literally out was just a little different than the rest. Shinier or something. Dean tended to tune Cloud’s ‘light’ babble out a bit, because Cloud had more than a few screws loose and if thinking Dean was some sort of paragon made Cloud feel better and be less fangy, Dean wasn’t about to disillusion him.
At first sex wasn’t even in the picture. Cloud was busy ducking the demons that wanted Dean back, twisting and diving through places that made even the endless rack Dean had been strung up on for over eighteen years seem like a fairy garden of delights, until they’d finally shaken the last of their pursuers. That’s when Dean discovered a small drawback to being really dead. He was losing bits of himself.
Alastair had been a superb torturer, he made sure that every part of Dean was paid attention to with his implements, hence *Dean* paid attention to those bits too. And if you didn’t pay attention to yourself when dead, those pieces started fading away as your soul tried to revert back to it’s natural, glowy, globlike state. So Cloud started touching Dean to remind him of all the parts of himself, fingers, feet, that little spot in the small of his back that made him shiver…
A warm hand sliding down his front to cup curiously around a bit of flesh that *loved* to have attention paid to it. That hadn’t had *anything* friendly done for it in far far too long.
“Cloud,” Dean choked out, eyes squeezing shut as Cloud thumbed open the button on his jeans (sometime much later he’d try and figure out why he always reformed in his favorite pair of jeans and his Dad’s old leather coat, but thinking was taking a decided backseat to being groped), “You don’t… don’t have to…”
“I want to,” Cloud’s voice was quiet, but a lot of the sibilants that had marked his speech when they first met were gone, along with most of the fangs that had decorated his mouth. His teeth were a bit sharp now, but nothing someone would really look twice at anymore. “For you. You’ve been bringing me back, reminding me of who I am. I want to do the same for you.”
Fingers with only the tips of claws left curled around him, pulling and tightening into a delightful surge of friction and Dean’s next rebuttal is lost in a low, guttural groan. Ever the opportunist, Cloud nudged Dean’s jeans further open, sliding them just far enough down Dean’s hips to give him unfettered access. Further protests were lost with the sudden surge of Dean’s libido roaring back to life after nearly two decades. He felt vaguely Cloud taking his weight and easily lowering him down to the ground of the dimension they’d been traveling through (fortunately not too rocky or with too many damned souls wailing nearby it was almost peaceful for a Hell-type) and then rolling so that Cloud was hovering over Dean, his one remaining wing half-opened and flexing in rhythm that Cloud had set up with his hand.