Genesis' reaction to seeing Sephiroth in drag? Make this as horny as you want.
This reply has been turned into a one-shot fiction named Jesus of the moon.
When Sephiroth goes more than an hour without answering his calls outside office hours, Genesis gets very annoyed. When he fails to answer more than three messages in a row, he starts to worry. But when even Angeal can't tell him where he is, or worse, admits that he can't reach him either, the facade of carelessness collapses miserably, and he drops everything he's been doing and rushes home. He doesn’t knock, he doesn’t try the doorbell, he simply uses his spare key card and storms his apartment unannounced. He already knows that if he is not at home, the next plan would be to search the entire Shinra building starting with the science department.
The flat is as tidy and clean as ever. An almost empty mug of herbal tea sits abandoned on the coffee table next to the sofa, right on top of the dust jacket of a historical novel he didn't know he was reading: Genesis moves it, and the material is so smooth that he can wipe the round halo with the back of his hand without leaving a mark. Vaguely jazzy music plays softly from the bedroom, and when Sephiroth's voice reaches his ears, anger gives way to relief: he’s humming wordlessly to the notes of the song, sounding serene.
Genesis reaches the room in silence, absentmindedly flipping through the novel to see if it is as tasteless as the cover design suggests, and leans his shoulder against the doorframe, one leg crossing over the other. Sephiroth does not notice him, and the string of notes continues undisturbed with more than adequate intonation.
When Genesis looks up from the page, any consideration of the literary quality of the work disappears.
Sephiroth's back is turned, facing the full-length mirror, his white hands gently running down his sides, smoothing the fabric of a black dressing gown: it's good quality chiffon, so sheer that Genesis can count the lines of his muscles beneath it. His milk-coloured, tapered legs are wrapped in silk stockings adorned with lace and a thin line sewn at the back, garters lap at his thighs and hips. That perfect ass seems to have been put on this earth to wear lace culottes, revealing enough to be cheeky without being vulgar. The top is little more than a harness, something not very different from what the public is used to.
Genesis, on the other hand, believes he will never get used to the sight. To those hands grasping the dressing gown and releasing it a moment later, feeling its weight brush against the skin. To those hips swaying to the rhythm of the music. To that foot sliding along the calf to feel the texture of the stocking. To those black embroideries on his skin that make him look like a fugitive moonbeam.
Sephiroth moves closer to the mirror and runs his thumb along his lower lip, wiping away a smudge of lipstick: a desaturated mauve, practically the exact shade of his lips; the same shade that fades his cheekbones. A thin line of eyeliner makes his eyes even more feline, even more languid and tender. And he’s smiling. A soft, carefree smile, the kind that even Genesis would swear he saw on rare, cherished occasions. He smiles as he gathers his hair in his hands and looks in the mirror to see how he would look in a ponytail. The smile turns into a giggle, something so sweet that Genesis could die from it sitting down.
But suddenly the smile dies on his lips, his eyes open wide in horror as he sees him over his shoulder in the mirror: “Genesis!”
Genesis feels like an idiot, and not just because of the stunned look on his face, the unhinged jaw, the book slipping out of his hands: he had frightened, perhaps embarrassed him.
“Sephiroth, I'm so-”
“I'm so sorry, Genesis.”
Sephiroth hides as best he can in his dressing gown, curled up on the bed, his face hidden in his hands.
"I'm sorry you had to see..."
Genesis wants to laugh, but Sephiroth's broken voice suggests it might hurt him. He sits down beside him on the bed, closing the distance between them before he can pull away. He takes his hand, trying to move it away from his face without forcing it.
“Hey…”
“I’m sorry… I’m…”
“For what?” This time Genesis can't hold back a chuckle. “For being a stunner?” Something tells him that the only right thing to do is to bring those fingers to his lips and kiss them one by one, like precious things, and hold his gaze as he blushes. “You look…” he wants to keep going, but something the size of a hard-boiled egg, complete with shell, gets stuck in his throat and he has to stop to swallow it, “you look beautiful. Sorry, I should have knocked.”
They sit in silence for a while, Genesis' thumb stroking Sephiroth's hand as if to soothe the embarrassment. But his gaze is averted, fixed on the mirror.
"I look stupid."
This time Genesis sighs. He slips one hand under his silk-covered knees and wraps the other around his hips, hoisting him into his lap, preventing him from continuing to scrutinise himself in the mirror. He touches his leg with exhausting slowness, his fingers lingering on the embroidered hem. He doesn't know where he finds the courage to look up into his eyes. Fuck, he's perfect.
"Does it feel right?"
Sephiroth nods immediately, the shadow of a smile forming on his lips.
“Does it feel… you?”
He nods again, the smile even wider; he looks... mischievous: “You know what else I can feel, Genesis?”
“Uh?” Genesis raises an eyebrow, curious, as Sephiroth leans in, his lips grazing his ear
“You’re extremely hard.”
