Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Venus ❯ Modern Swinger ( Prologue )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Impiety
Beta-d by Anikky.
I do not own FFVII.
WARNING: This story contains mentions of sex and the sex trade, drugs, BoyLove, crappy writing, Final Fantasy VII being used out of context, and swear words.

The title is owned by the PINK SPIDERS.

Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Drama / Romance / Angst | Type: Shounen-ai | Uploaded On: 10.23.2008 | Updated On: 10.23.2008 | Pages: 4 | Words: 4.6K | Visits: 263 | Status: Work In Progress

 
 
Let me start my story by telling you the city of my youth. It seems a millennia ago I inhabited Hope. Although time is regardless here, the only thing you need to know is it was a time ruled by the four elements of corruption and terror: drugs, gangs, guns and money. Money, gil- there was always a distinct lack of it, and when in an abundance, was the root of all troubles.
 
In Hope you could tell no one your real name - and if you did, it was either you were being held at gun point or you wanted some cheap whore to scream it as you fucked her. I knew that well enough; my mother charged extra for noises, and even more if you didn't want her to pass your name on afterwards.
 
Not that she got much work in those last short days of hers, but don't get me wrong. She may have been a slut, liar, piece of scum; but she was still my mother, and in some way I think I loved her. I think.
 
You see, we lived in a two bedroom loft above a Wutai take-out store- the stench of oil and grease to this day still reminds me of home. She would have once been quite a handsome woman, but that's just guess work - the whole time I knew her she was always shrivelled and searching for a fix. Ah drugs; there was no shortage of those in Hope.
 
Ten years ago everything ran off Mako energy - until they found those nice mutated, animated corpses wandering around town. Now the green liquid (manufactured by god-knows-who) was little more then a cheap drug. The thing about Mako is its sheer addictive nature - one hit and you're its slave forever; it drains you, feeds off you... and you in turn feed off it. Whilst on it you feel super human strength, or agility- whatever. It differed for everyone. But most importantly- it was cheap, and you could get it anywhere. I remember the few years I went to school, the seedy dealer who sat on the street corner offering it to us kids. Hell - it was cheaper than candy, but it wasn't like we had money anyway. But the temptation was always there - waiting to ensnare us.
 
Officially we were categorised as `Lower Class' a.k.a `scum of the earth', and some days `None-will-miss-them-when-they're-gone' - the Authority was corrupt as corrupt can get. But things seemed to be getting better- their henchmen, those who carried out the law, were known as SOLIDER, whose vicious tactics were often turned on the poor.
The most famous of which was General Sephiroth, and his second-in-command Zack Fair, but I think I'll leave them til a bit later…
 
My childhood was short from the moment of my birth til the age of ten as I sat watching my mother over dose on Mako on the kitchen floor.
 
All the colour in the room seemed to be bleached out by the fluorescent lights - their hum pounding in my ears. Everything seemed to consist of dull greens and flickers of sour yellow mixed with starched dirty white. In that world, nothing ever was clean…
 
She lay on the linoleum tiles that peeled up at the edges, dressed in her work clothes - nothing more then a skimpy top and a short skirt- no underwear, and I could see her nipples through the worn fabric. Her eyes were bulging, mouth agape, and I remembered thinking, `What an ugly way to die…' but did not heed her cry for help. Then the thrashing started and blood trickled down her face from her eyes and nose- on the sides her ears too. She wailed - but no one would take notice; screaming was the neighbourhood theme tune.
 
And here the whole time I kneeled by her side watching her die with rapt attention. Not saying or doing anything - yet I'm sure tears trickled down my face. But memory fails me. The vial crushed to shining splinters in her hand - empty of course, with sticky green residue staining her flaking skin (Mako is most effectively absorbed through the skin - incase you're thinking of doing it… It's better to dilute it if you're new. Try putting it in your bath water). Then it all seemed to stop and everything seemed too real; the gleam of her blood and the nimbus of black hair that surrounded her head like a halo. I leaned over her, moving my hands to shut her eyelids like I'd seen those men on TV do… But then the thrashing and screaming started again.
Startled, I got up, grabbed my bag and that was the last I ever saw of `dear mother'.
 
To tell the truth, she could be alive, but I doubt it. I've never known anyone to ever pump that much Mako into themselves and still live to tell the tale. It was enough to scare me away from drugs for months.
 
But before I forget - there is one key that sums up the few years of my innocence, Vincent Valentine comics. They were cheap - but in high demand. Few wanted to be SOLDIERS or Turks, but every young boy wanted to be Vincent Valentine. He was a real person, of course, not just a fictional character. He was a drug overlord- or so the rumours went. The comics depicted him as the `Robin Hood' of Hope; a dashing, dark, mysterious one at that, he spent his time foiling and fighting off gangs - but never killing them. No- he believed in redemption, in being just; he claimed he didn't want to be the one to rob them of their lives.
 
To a ten year old boy living in slums after watching his mother die - Valentine was a god.
 
Don't forget that name. His importance cannot be over looked.
 
My next five years is regrettably a haze; being a weak person and living without a home or any kind of security lead to drugs despite my fear of them, but never did I once touch Mako. Never.
 
I was hooked on a substance that was known on the street as `Materia'- a fancy name for a crappy pill that was only 1.5% MDMA, and the rest was up to the dealer (my favourite was the aptly named Blizzardaga).
 
Materia was never as good if you smoked or swallowed, believe me - I've tried it all.
What you need to do is get a good box cutter and have a steady hand, then cut a slit in your skin about the size of your pinkie nail or smaller. But make sure it's deep! Clear the blood out of the way- and voila. Shove that sucker under your skin and you'll be flying high like a bird for one hell of a long time. My arms were decorated by silver half moon scars, the stigmata of my addiction.
 
Materia made the world magical- every neon sign was your ticket to adventure, every smile your new best friend. And every morning a chance to start it all over again.
It took a while to get addicted, and my body hated me for it. Made my hair grow long, and caused me to get even skinnier- and when I wasn't high, I was depressed or angry.
I used to walk past my old school - a shadow of who I used to be, confused as to why my old friends used to gape at me, point, stare…
 
How did I get the money for all this?
Well, I learned just to shut my eyes... and got 3 gil extra if I swallowed.
 
Somehow I survived for five years - and then I hit puberty. Materia soaked my body and yet some how I still managed to grow tall and some how beautiful (beautiful… everyone told me I was. They always wanted beauty above all else, a concept that I am yet to fully grasp).
Money from giving head jobs in an alleyway seemed not to suffice anymore.
And the lure of professional prostitution captured me in the end.
 
The demand of beautiful young boys had no end in Hope- before I joined my first brothel, I had paid no attention of whose turf I lived in, who got killed, who to fuck and who to hide from.
Those lessons came hard and fast.
 
First off I was claimed as part of the Ifrit's property - they were rather small time. But it didn't take long for me to be noticed by bigger players. Notably the Bahamut's and Shirva's. And after a week of gang wars, I was part of the Shirva's.
When you're in the position where you're treated like a object... a desire, a feeling of terrible importance will come over you. I was young, I was naïve. And somehow I stood out among the other `pleasure' workers- it took time, but soon my `name' was known to all those in Hope.
 
I tried to control the men I was fucking. But that only lead to trouble.
 
Seventh Heaven belonged to AVALANCHE's turf, the owner of the brothel being a woman named Tifa Lockhart. I'd been won in a drunken poker game- an annual event between the numerous big time gang leaders in Hope. At first they had promised me a better life -which in my mind translated as less work and more drugs- but...
Ha! I still had to work hard for my food.
 
Before I started whoring myself out I was convinced that women were meant for me. But after I joined Tifa's fine establishment - I loathed them. The ways that they could control my body, the way they wanted to be treated like something special or pure. It was bullshit and also my job. Seventh Heaven was where I started fucking men full time.
 
It started out with just seedy rich business men looking for a root, until I worked my way up the social ladder. I was to become Seventh Heaven's most demanded whore- I slept with the countries richest and most important men… Generals, politicians, hit men and even mafia dons.
 
Did I like my job?
I can't say I didn't.
But I can't say I did.
 
It was just a job - I had no favourites, only sad cases that I had to make cum over my delicious teenage body. Men I had to pleasure and pretend to know their names.
I was good at my job. Very good.
 
Until one day.
 
As I mentioned - I'd never had favourites.
Until I met a very influential man, if that's the correct word. The kind of man that goes to an all male brothel just because his best mate and drinking buddy dares him.
This man happened to be a SOLDIER, first class no less, named Zack.
Zack, if he had not of been born of a rich family, probably would have ended up in my position. He was good looking, extroverted, eager to please and at this stage of his life, easily bullied into anything.
 
Tifa just told me that my next client was important, and I'd barely had time to wash the stench of sex off my body before he entered my room.
 
The layout of Seventh Heaven was typical of most of those kinds of establishments-
a long, narrow corridor with small sectioned off rooms with a corresponding curtain colour (mine was crimson), where we boys lived and slept - and there was a communal shower at the end of the hall. But clients never went there.
My room was draped in exotic silks and smelt faintly of sex and lavender - the bed a simple, thin double futon on the floor.
 
I wore nothing but a pair of tight jeans - it was the boy's first time, so I didn't want to scare him off. He was a prospect of wages after all. Wages meant drugs- and drugs meant the fix I was longing for, the fix that I'd been denied for the last day.
 
I seated myself on the bed, and thinking I had time, I sat on its edge reading an old Valentine comic that one of the boys (Yazoo) had lent me. It was novel - an amusing fragment of another life long since faded.
What surprised me when Zack walked in was not the fact that he was a SOLDIER, but his blushing face. It was almost enough to make me laugh. Shoving the comic under the mattress, I got up gracefully.
 
“Wow… It's not every day someone as pretty as you comes along...” I murmured, my voice heavy with seduction. But it was not a lie- his serious face charming and almost as `beautiful' as my own. He said nothing, but instead looked down at the ground.
 
“What is it, pretty? Haven't you got anything to say?” The shy ones always had pissed me off.
 
I walked forward, looping my arms around his waist, moving my boy close to his.
 
“Come on now, how can we have any fun with your arms crossed like that?” His reply startled me.
 
“Uhh, sorry. I'm, well, er. I'm here because of a… um, dare. Kind of, you see…” he trailed off, not looking at me. The guilt and amusement in his voice was almost enough to make me snap.
 
Impatiently, I dropped my arms and flounced back to my seat, retrieving my comic in a very unprofessional manner.
It was not an unfamiliar situation - he would probably just ask for a photo now, or a card, then rush off to his SOLDIER friends and have a giggle. What I wondered was how he could afford me.
But all that meant for me was an hours pay with no work to do.
 
“Sorry…” he mumbled, taking fairy steps closer.
I ignored him, hating the silence, and hating the pathetic loser that wasted my time.
 
“Whatever, just get your photo and go,” I hissed, my voice cold and my anger rising, the desire for a fix rushing as it growled and clawed for a fix under my skin.
 
He grinned and pulled out his cell phone, but then taking another look at me, shoved it back into his pocket.
 
He forced a laugh, “It's my twenty-first birthday, you see…” he started. He was young for a SOLDIER. “And my mate Reno dared me-” His voice was eager, as if he wanted to make light conversation... almost if he wanted to be good terms with me.
 
“To come here and waste my time and ridicule us whores, is that right?” I cut in and hissed at him as he took a step back, saying nothing but bravely nodding his head. At least this one could admit it, I remember thinking at the time.
 
“Sorry… Wh-what if we walk for a bit?” he asked, I stared at him. Did he not know who I was?
 
“My names Zack, by the way… You're Kitten right?” he said, shyly walking over before he sat next to me. I flinched upon hearing my alias.
 
“Yeah, whatever… Listen- no need to stay. You haven't hurt my feelings. Just get out…” Venom seethed in my voice, and I pretended to concentrate on the flimsy paper in front of me.
 
“Cool! I used to read those comics as a kid! They were awesome…” he said with forced glee.
 
I vowed not to kill him just yet.
 
“I used to want to be him, ya'know.” The dark haired boy laughed as he said this.
 
I still continued to ignore him- my job was to fuck and groan at the right time. Not to have half-assed conversations with immature boys.
 
“And yeah… You know the shit thing about Valentine?” If he was expecting an answer, he wasn't getting one. “He's responsible for half the drugs in Hope- it's his fault the gangs rip at each other. And he's a fucking queer…” As soon as those words escaped the boy's mouth, I could see the wash of regret flow over his face.
 
At that I snapped, and before he could open his foolish mouth again I got up and walked to my curtain, opening it for him; I couldn't stand customers or anyone for that matter in denial of their own sexuality, or who made a stab at my own.
 
“The door is this way, Zack,” my voice was cold and hurt. “I don't have anything to offer you, now kindly leave. Your time is up.” He opened his voice to argue, but left silently, with out his photo or autograph, empty handed. Later I would wonder if his friends would ridicule him or not.
 
It would take months for Zack Fair to return to Seventh Heaven, and then weeks the second time... and by the third and fourth onwards, only days.
 
My name… is Cloud Strife, by the way. It's 600 gil extra if you want me to scream your name during sex- and 6000 extra if you don't want me to pass it on to Valentine.