Final Fantasy 7. Kadaj/Loz/Yazoo. R. 200 words. Branding, almost.

The clones belong to no one but eachother.


“Don’t touch it,” Loz says. His hands flatten protectively over his belly.

Kadaj doesn’t care. There should be no boundaries between them. He claws at Loz’s fingers until he can get a good look. Loz makes a miserable sound. Nails catch flesh and Kadaj grows more and more determined. Reluctantly, Loz pulls his hands away.

“Ah, your numbers,” Yazoo says. He pushes aside Kadaj’s hands, lets his fingertips gently drift over the barcode in Loz’s flesh.

“I’ve got one, too.” Kadaj unzips the front of his armor and peels it open. He twists to show off his shoulder. “It’s just a tattoo.”

Yazoo shakes his head. Not to Loz, it isn’t. “It’s more than that,” Yazoo says. He sinks to his knees, kisses the stark lines of black ink. Loz’s stomach muscles quiver. “It’s a reminder,” Yazoo goes on, and licks away the blood beading on a scratch. “A mark of ownership.”

“Then let’s burn it away and give him a new mark,” Kadaj says. He slips an arm around Loz’s neck, threads his fingers into short hair and kisses Loz’s strong jaw with a twisting tongue. “Would you like that, brother?”

Loz’s answer is a thick and hungry kiss.



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