This was written on a bunch of scrap paper while sitting in uncomfortable lounge chairs at the Troy MEPS, massively sleep deprived, hungry, and annoyed with the idiot doctors who couldn't measure my height properly and made me come back two days later over a single pound. If this is as crappy as I fear it is, blame the military for waking me up at 4 AM.
Inspired by MRE's li'l drawing under the same name, 'Vincent's Secret'. You'll have to go to Mako Red Eyes' deviantart page to view it, for some reason fanfiction .net won't let me post the URL here >(
As a kid, I actually tried making up a game similar to the one described here, only less alcohol. Try it, it's fun :3
o o o
It is a well-known fact that boredom leads to creativity. It's a not-so well known fact that boredom led Tifa Lockheart and Jessie Ryan into inventing a game involving cards, dice, alcohol, the contents of their pockets, the worst romance novel they could find and a dozen bricks from a 'Truth-or-Dare' Jenga set. None the less, while a Gongagan monsoon raged outside, Tifa and Barett passed on 'Fluff 'n'Stuff' to their Avalanche companions, amidst a lot of laughter, loud music, imported liquor, and giggly readings of the romance novel's horrid sex scenes when some pair of players lost their hand by more than ten points.
Cid frowned at his cards, then looked across the table at his partner. Vincent's brow went up in silent query, only the tiniest flare of color in his pale cheeks evidence of the three shots of peppermint schnapps he'd already downed. Game rules stated that partners sit across the table from each other and develop their own way of communicating their cards, a rule that led to a lot of footsie. Cid had no intention of foot-play and was instead tapping out his cards in Morse Code, which the ex-Turk had quickly picked up on. Unfortunately, alcohol and Midgan rock music made it difficult to concentrate on exactly what Vincent was tapping back.
Yuffie grinned at Cid, dropping two cards in the discard pile and fanning her remaining three in front of her. "Ready to get tromped?" She asked gaily. Across from her, Cait Sith discarded his own cards and nodded eagerly. Cid snorted, discarded, and dropped his hand to the table. Vincent did the same.
Cid had two Jacks and a four, Vincent two sixes and a three. Between the two of them Yuffie and Cait had four tens, giving them the win. "You're miscommunicating, Chief." Vincent said blandly as a particular shinobi celebrated her win.
"The fuck if I am." Cid replied, taking a swig from the bottle Aerith passed him. "What's the punishment?"
"Vince had the lowest hand AND a three," Barett said, holding up a paper bag and shaking it. "So 'e gets a Jenga." He held the bag open, and Vincent rolled his eyes while choosing a block at random.
"Who, among the players, are you most attracted to right now?"
The table erupted into whistles and cat calls while Vincent glared at the block in his hand, Nanaki (who refused to play for numerous reasons) shook his head at their antics, and the inn keeper secretly thanked the gods that no one else had shown up that night. The three girls burst into giggles and started whispering to each other behind their hands, much to Vincent's annoyance and everyone else's general amusement. After a moment, Vincent sighed and tossed the wooden block to the center of the table and picked up the beer-bottle cap he'd won earlier. "I'd like to use my lifeline." He said.
"What terms?" Tifa asked. "You can't get out of telling."
"I know." Vincent said. "I want to have to tell only one person."
"I suppose that's acceptable." Tifa replied. She held up a hand to forestall the disappointed groans from around the table. "But he can't leave the game area to do so, so if we overhear it's his fault. Who? And they can always tell if they want."
"Cid." The gunman answered, standing and walking around the table. Cid stood to meet him, a brow quirked in amusement, wondering what he was about to hear. His bets were on either Tifa or Aerith, as he was very sure Vincent didn't deviate at all. The others had fallen silent in hopes of overhearing something, although no one touched the radio. Musical volume reduction was against the rules.
Vincent gave Cid the faintest of smiles before leaning forward to whisper in his ear. Cid had thought he was ready to hear anything, but what Vincent did say made his jaw drop.
"I want you, Chief." Vincent breathed. "I want you so bad it hurts to not touch you every chance I get. I dream about you, and wonder what it would feel like to wake up at your side. I want you to fuck me to the floor, make me beg for more, then I want to return the favor." He straightened, still smiling, and returned to his seat while Cid took a moment to remember how his jaw worked and snapped it shut. The blond stared at Vincent in complete disbelief as the gunman went back to his seat amid much questioning, badgering and speculation before the game was continued.
o o o
Cid woke the next morning with a hangover and an intense case of confusion. Had Vincent professed admiring anyone else, he'd not have batted an eye. If anyone else had told him they wanted him, he wouldn't have wondered about it. But this was Vincent, cold, dangerous Vincent, who had whispered into his ear with a husky, seductive tone and told him the one thing he'd never expected to hear.
'I want you, Chief.'
Just thinking about that gave Cid goose bumps.
He sat up and looked around. The far bed, Barett's, was empty. The nearer bed, Vincent's, had only his bag sitting on it. And across the room, the coffee pot was filling the room with a thick, spicy scent that certainly was NOT coffee. He rolled out of bed and went to investigate, delighted to discover a half-empty box of tea bags beside the hotplate, a spicy, Mideelic brew he knew to be good for the hung-over or perpetually stoned. Grinning to himself, he reached for a mug just as the door opened to reveal Vincent.
Cid nearly fumbled his mug. "Mornin'" He mumbled, having decided that acting as if nothing had happened would be the best choice. Any weird behavior he could write off as hang-over residue.
"Morning." Vincent replied. "Catch." Cid turned barely in time to catch the small, bear-shaped bottle labeled 'honey'.
"You're a real prince, Val." Cid said gratefully. "Thanks." He poured two mugs of the spicy tea and added a generous dollop of honey to both. The first sip, for Cid, was heavenly, and was almost enough to drive the memory of the previous night from his mind. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had tea.
Eventually he became aware of Vincent's eyes on him, watching him over the rim of his mug. The silence was becoming uncomfortable, but Cid held his ground and ignored it until Vincent sighed ruefully, making him look up. "If you are angry about what I said last night," The gunman said. "Then please tell me now, before I do something foolish."
"I'm not mad," Cid said, somewhat defensively and somewhat reassuringly. "I'm just... surprised as fuck."
"Expecting someone else?" Vincent questioned, draining the last of his tea.
"Yeah, a female." Cid replied. Vincent's brows went up. "I mean," Cid added hurriedly. "You were in love with that, that Lucretia woman, so I didn't think you'd jump the fence like that."
Vincent sat down his mug and gave Cid the same slight, devilish smile he had the night before. He reached out, tipping Cid's chin up with one hand to look at him. "I was in love with Lucretia," He said, and Cid wondered where he always hid that seductive tone. "But physical attraction had little to do with it. Physically, you are the most attractive man I've ever met. I've never seen someone of your caliber." He leaned forward, bringing their faces mere inches apart. "It was not some drunken madness. I want you, and I will not deny it. But if you say no now, if you tell me it will never happen, I will cease to actively pursue you. Your choice."
A part of Cid, the part most concerned with keeping things uncomplicated and un-fucked up, wanted to say no, never, not in a million years. But he was fascinated, hypnotized by that warm touch and velvet voice and those brilliant, gleaming eyes. He opened his mouth and closed it helplessly, and Vincent's smile deepened, obviously delighted with the lack of rejection. "Strange to see you speechless, Chief." He breathed. Before Cid could even get his mind somewhere around responding, Vincent kissed him.
The gunman's mouth against his was possessive, both demanding and pleading, and the feel of him sent a jolt through Cid's veins. His jaw had gone slack in shock and Vincent took blatant advantage of it, running his tongue along Cid's lips. He eventually pulled away, leaving a dumbfounded Cid to once again stare at him in disbelief. "Until I get a yes or no, Cid." Vincent purred, then turned to grab his bag from his bed and leave the room.
o o o
Cid let out a low, shuddery breath as hot lips moved across his skin. He looked down at the hissed rendition of his name, straight into fiery red eyes that smiled up at him while the mouth below them set to driving him insane. He slid his hands into raven hair and moaned, hips lifting, skin burning, veins blazing-
-And jolted awake in bed.
It took the pilot a moment to orient himself - another bed, another hotel, another day of blood and adrenaline behind him. He rolled over, barely avoiding a meeting with the floor, and looked at the clock. 12:07, and it took him another thirty seconds to remember passing out in bed at eight, bruised and exhausted. Wincing as the movement aggravated the ache in his groin, he tumbled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, convinced he was going insane.
Even since Vincent's kiss, nigh on a week ago, he had been plagues with increasingly realistic dreams and day-time fantasies involving the dark gunman. It wasn't that the other side of the fence scared him, he'd never really cared much about the gender of who he slept with, it was just...Vincent. Dark, moody, dangerous Vincent. Who had saved his life more than once by transforming into terrifying, bloodthirsty creatures. Who had almost shot Cloud for asking too many questions at their first meeting. Who, until a week ago, had shown little emotion beyond sullen silences, sharp glares, and the occasional smirk during a poker game.
Vincent, who gave him devilish, secretive smiles across the table when the group ate together. Who's eyes followed him everywhere, tracing every movement he made with thinly veiled desire. Who had run a single finger from his hairline to lower back the previous night, raising every inch of his skin with goose bumps.
Vincent, who gave no clue to whether or not he wanted a single roll in the hay, a part-time sex buddy or a full-blown romantic affair.
Vincent, who currently occupied the bathroom.
Naked accept the towel draped over his head, Vincent froze at the sound of the door opening. They both stared for a long moment before Vincent slowly straightened, turning completely towards the pilot and pulling the towel from his head to stand tall and pale beneath the cold, white fluorescent bathroom light. He was marked with white and pink scars, laying on his torso and arms like thin strings, but was stunning none the less, lithe and strong, his head high and proud, look, see what you might have, what you crave at night. Cid gaped at him, taking in the view he was presented, but abruptly came to his senses and muttered a hasty apology before whipping around and all but slamming the door shut. He heard a faint sigh from the other side of the door before he went to sit on the edge of his bed.
A few minutes later Vincent emerged from the bathroom, blessedly dressed and Cid moved to enter without looking at him, firmly telling himself he was not blushing. He turned on the shower as cold as he could stand and got in, shivering as the water hit his flushed body. Images of Vincent danced through his mind, teasing, inviting, and he turned face-first into the spray, trying to wash the gunman from his mind. It proved impossible and when he left the shower long minutes later he was still partially aroused, still thinking of the possible ramifications of giving in to his growing desire for his friend, still thinking about what Vincent's skin might taste like. He was jointly relieved and disappointed to discover Vincent either sleeping or pretending to once he left the bathroom.
o o o
Cid looked up from his work. They were camping out-of-doors and Cid was kneeling by a small stream some distance from camp, scrubbing blood from the sleeve of his jacket. Vincent was standing just up the shore, arms crossed as he leaned against a tree, watching him. "You're tempted," He repeated. "Attracted, even dreaming about me at night. But for the life of me, I cannot understand why you hesitate."
Cid wrung the excess water from his sleeve and spread the jacket on the grass to dry before standing with a shrug. "Good question." He said. "I suppose I hesitate because I'm not sure what your game is."
Vincent frowned slightly. "Please explain." He requested.
"I'm not sure where you want to go, Val." Cid said. "I don't want some romantic affair, not now, not when I don't know if I'll be alive this time tomorrow. If that's what you're after, then I'll have to say no, for your sake as well as mine. You say you want me, but my question is 'how much'? You'll have to outright tell me, because I really fucking suck at reading minds."
Vincent smiled, amused, behind his cloak. "So that's it." He chuckled. "Simple uncertainty." He reached up and unbuckled his cloak, letting it fall to the grass, and approached the pilot. "Allow me to assuage your fears, Chief." He said. "I am not in love with you, I do not think I will ever fall in love again. But I still desire as any man does. I believe 'friends with benefits' is the term I am looking for, someone I trust, someone who I desire, someone who desires me in return..." He trailed off and Cid was wondering when he'd gotten so close when Vincent kissed him again.
It was slower this time, almost lazy, Vincent's mouth moving languidly against the pilot's. Cid's eyes were slowly lulled shut and much to both men's surprise and delight, he found himself responding. Vincent's hands grasped his shoulders, pulling him close, and Cid slid his own arms around the gunman's waist.
A long, thrilling moment passed before they surfaced for air, breathing heavily and looking at each other in intermingled wonder and desire. "You have no idea." Vincent whispered. "How long I've waited for this, for you." Their lips crushed together again, patience long gone as their bodies slid hungrily together.
Any hesitation on Cid's part was buried completely, but he still paused when Vincent led him over to his out-spread cloak. "What if one of the others come by?" He managed between kisses.
Vincent laughed darkly, pulling Cid to the ground. "A little mental trauma won't hurt any of them." He replied.