You could find help in the strangest of places, so discovered Cloud, often in the most unlikely of people. That is, if 'help' it could be called.
And thus the blonde came to be in his current position: on his knees, legs spread, head pinned to the makeshift bed below. Just the way Sephiroth had liked it; completely submissive and exposed.
Yet by no means was it Sephiroth whom knelt behind him, pounding into his body; by no means did the silver-haired General still have any physical claim on him whatsoever. And the very thought brought a desperate tear to his eye, the mental and emotional claim the General still had on him growing all the stronger in his absence.
But his current possessor soon realised what he was thinking, what traitorous thoughts were floating through his mind, for suddenly the presence within him was withdrawn, leaving the blonde feeling empty and horribly cold. He should have known he couldn't keep his true yearning hidden for long.
"You ache for him, but he will not come.," the voice growled. "I own you now."
Cloud felt himself flipped over, back colliding with the ground and his legs forcibly spread by two opposing hands - one soft as silk, the other hard as iron. Then two blood red eyes were staring down at him; desiring, demanding, and unsympathetic.
"You will be taken this way from now on, by my hands only, and you will forget that delusional filth ever laid a hand on you."
Vincent thrust violently back into his body without warning, the blonde crying out as he came shortly after, a new (though familiar) name on his lips.
Yes, this was how it was meant to be. And suddenly he felt safe and whole once more.