Shutting From the Sky
Notes: No idea where this one came from. I just wanted something to write about with the twins and then… poof! There is twincest sex to be had; nudity, sacrificed clothing and blood. Not… too graphic, I think, but then… I have a very long measuring stick of 'graphic'. ^^;
Extra:I forgot to add this in before, but this is another addition to the Mercverse AU. This means that most canon is out the door. Yes, you heard right. Outside of Cloud being immortal, Sephiroth being a mage, Zack being just that much more than mortal and Vincent and Chaos being half-demon twins, anything goes. But me being me, I like splicing in canon bits in anyway. So if you want to read, I'm going to have to ask you to suspend some of your disbelief for my canon twists.
Chaos had never thought much about being alone.
He hadn't needed to—the thought had never had a chance to come up, merely because Vincent was always there.
Oh, certainly not every minute of every day; everyone, especially their demon halves, seek solitude sooner or later. But there has always been the knowledge that someone was there, standing beside him, watching him and guarding him when he flew recklessly into the dangers. That and near-immortality was enough sometimes to reassure him, to make him believe that it would always be like that.
But now as he walked down the street and saw the fearful eyes and the furtive whispers, he felt almost uncomfortable being near them without the mild calm that permeated the air around his brother. It was odd, this feeling of self-consciousness. He'd never had much cause to care what others thought of him—he knew what the ones that mattered thought of him … and that was a short list of pack and pack alone. Theirs were the only opinions he might ever take into account and even then only if they suited him.
They were close to him, they were. Pack. It was odd, this feeling of being close to so many people. How long had it been? Ten years? Twenty? More? Not nearly long enough to be used to it.
Chaos was not altogether sure that becoming used to the arrangement was a good idea at all. After all, their choice of specialization and profession aside, the pack would not last.
He thought about that.
Cloud… well, Cloud was immortal. He might stay with them forever… but then again, he might not. Eternity, even close to eternity was a long time. And though Chaos was by no means old in demon reckoning, he had watched the mortal world continue spinning for those around him; had seen friends drift apart, fledglings leaving the nest, death taking them all. All the time, people changing, separating… it could happen to them too. One day Cloud might leave.
It was habit that made him pull up the neck of his cloak closer, obscuring the bottom half of his face as he passed several Turks ambling out of a nearby doorway, the stink of alcohol thick in their individual scents. Chaos wrinkled his nose, presser tighter against the thick fabric and continued moving, his thoughts wandering away from the Turks once they were far enough behind him to no long present a threat. Thoughts of his pack were more important, and more worrying.
He didn't like the thought of Cloud leaving. Cloud was old… Chaos could always feel the weight of age pressing down on the blonde's shoulders like an echo in the back of his head whenever he was around him. That, and the look in Cloud's eyes; of old pain, old joy, innumerable days, months and years that sometimes showed through when he was too tired to smile. Once upon a time, Cloud had been an innocent and that look in his eyes had never been there. But it was so very hard to imagine.
He turned his thoughts to the others.
Sephiroth… Sephiroth's magic lengthened his life, nourished him until he very nearly lived and breathed magic instead of the air his body still needed. But he had once been human—before the witchlight had entered his eyes and made them glow, before he'd been marked as the scion of a demon queen… before he'd gained his power. And he would leave them one day too—one day that very magic that sustained him would consume him, whisper to him in a voice he didn't want to hear to do its bidding, and ultimately he would be forced to fade, willingly or no, back into the Planet's Lifestream whence he came. One day Sephiroth might turn.
And there was Zack… their beautiful reckless boy with the violet eyes and the easy laugh that drew them in and knit them close. He was warm, brimming with that fire that all mortals have, that need to live their lives in the here, in the now, in the today. He made the rest of them remember time and how it passed as they watched him slowly age—something you forget when your face in the glass has not changed in over a hundred years. There was demon inside him; running sluggishly through his veins and mixing with the mortality, healing him, revitalizing him, giving him the chance to live more than a hundred years if he could keep from being killed… And yet Zack was human, more human than they were, and he would inevitably age. One day, Zack would die.
So who was left? Vincent, only Vincent—his only other half. Vincent would never leave; they shared a demon soul between them, a bond no outside force could break. There would always be someone there. He would never be alone.
So why did that little girl's eyes continue to haunt him? Why did he keeping hearing that plaintive little voice, see that little face looking fearfully up at him, having seen the whitened skin, the gleaming eyes and the wild hair and mistaken him for a Devil? Why did he see her pleading with him?
"Please… please don't take Denzel away…"
It had not been hard to see the boy whose head she'd been cradling in her lap, nor the pain of suffering written on his face. They had just been children sitting in the street, the little boy groaning into the girl's lap as the rest of the world passed them by.
He frowned harder as he plodded on his way, pointedly ignoring the startled stares he received at the sight of his ashen skin. They always did that and he always ignored them. But that little girl's voice in his head… why was she still there? He had helped them. Had picked up the little boy and carried him, the girl trotting after to keep up on her shorter legs. Had taken him directly to the hospital where no one made comments about taking in another scruffy little boy off the streets. Chaos often got that reaction when he demanded things. So why did those eyes continue to watch him from the very back of his mind?
He didn't like it.
It was that last scene before he slipped away, he decided; the girl refusing to leave his side to be tested for the same disease that wracked her young friend—brother?—telling them quietly that he was all she had, and she needed to be there when he woke up.
Children. They were so very fragile, their mortality made them only more so. And that little girl had looked so solemn, like she knew the answers to eternity when she told them 'no'.
Quiet. Calm. And such inner strength to her, despite the frail limbs and her child's face.
He paused, nearly causing the man who'd been walking a cautious distance behind him to run into him—something neither of them were very happy with, and Chaos watched the man circle widely around him with cold eyes, his mind elsewhere.
Vincent. Perhaps that was it; the comparison between that girl and his own brother. The way the two of them were…
He frowned. Vincent had half a demon soul. He had hundreds of years left to him. Why did he worry? The demon in him gave him strength, burned away all traces of disease that might seek to harm him, reknit his flesh and bone when he was wounded…
But he could still be killed.
It hit him like one of Sephiroth's higher-level spells; crackling electricity down the length of his spine and he could feel his body stiffen at the realization.
Vincent could die.
The thought had never occurred to him before. Having a twin completed Chaos's reality and occasionally shut the rest of the world out. He liked it like that. He was content with believing it would stay like that for as long as he wanted it to.
What would it be like without Vincent?
He tried to imagine it, silent as he took in the crowd's stares. They gave him ideas to start with. He did not blend in well, even when he was as human as it was possible for his form to be. He could see their stares, hear their whispers—how long would it be until they were the only stares he received? Where all he could see reflected in anyone's face was a monster?
He frowned deeper, not liking what his imagination was telling him. No one to stand beside when they were out on a job, wing to wing, no one to protect and be protected by. No one arching up against him crying out in a hoarse voice so akin to his own, no familiar hands scratching lines down his back, no blood-red eyes watching him quietly when the rest of the building was asleep and the two of them were alone and entangled. No one sitting at the table calmly drinking tea and reading the paper when he came through the door in the mornings, no one telling him where he'd mislaid his hairbrush, no one frowning at him when he stole the first clean article of clothing he could find. Silly mundane things that no one thought a half-demon had to worry about but were often the most important upon recollection.
Without Vincent, there was no home.
There could simply be no future without Vincent, could there?
He was troubled and he didn't like it. They were mercenaries, hired fighters, assassins if the job truly called for it… hardly a profession that guaranteed their safety. It could happen. That was a lesson, a legacy of blood and pain that he would never forget—there was always someone stronger. One day one of them might fall—alone.
The sudden mental image of a blood-spattered Vincent in his arms was jarring and he could almost smell the stench of fire and charred flesh and blood. It terrified him like he'd thought nothing else left in the world could. Fear. No, no he didn't like the fear, didn't want it, no, no, no! His internal voice was plaintive, painfully young-sounding and he hated it, hated sounding defenseless, needy, even if it was only to himself and a snarl was curling up his throat in an attempt to shove that voice out of his head.
He came back to himself with a gasp as the scent of blood hit his nostrils and he realized that he'd unsheathed his claws, and they'd dug into the soft flesh of his palms until eight bloody prints adorned his shaking hands. Breathing deeply and forcing himself to start walking again, one leaden foot after the other, he tried to push the mental images away and to ignore the scent of blood, his blood, in his nose, but it was not much use now. He could feel the inner turmoil wreaking havoc on his outer appearance. The demon side of him did not respond well to the near-panic. Demons as a rule were simplistic creatures; they hungered, they hoarded, they hated… they lusted and fought with every particle of their beings. There was no room in all that to understand the finer points of love and loss that his human side gave him. So it reacted instinctively; battle-ready.
Chaos could see people gasping when he felt the red of his eyes bleed into gold, and knew they would start glowing soon. He clamped down as tightly as he could on the little control he had over the change and was moving, running, dodging around people in his way, his feet barely touching the ground between each bound that he made, even as he felt his wings roiling in a half-formed mass beneath the flesh of his marked shoulders.
Home, was his only thought as he threw a fold of his cloak over his head, hiding the horns that were inexorably sliding out, home—quickly.
Vincent was drinking his tea at the table; the paper spread out in front of him awaiting his perusal, and was chatting idly with Sephiroth when the door crashed open and a scarlet whirlwind swept in. Chaos barely paused to glance at his surroundings before he barreled forward towards Vincent, roughly shoving aside the silver-haired mage adept in the process. With a muffled growl, he grabbed his twin by the lapels of his neat blue suit jacket and jerked stunned lips against his own. Sephiroth frowned at the display, as well as the uncharacteristic treatment of his person and had just opened his mouth to speak when Chaos's wings exploded outwards with a loud tearing of fabric. Blood streamed thick and sluggishly down the length of his spine from the raw torn flesh at the base of each wing before the open wounds rapidly closed, the flesh visibly reknitting as Chaos arched at the sudden pain, his wings spanning almost to their fully-extended length before he regained enough control to draw them closer to his back. His shirt was hanging off his shoulders when he was done, and his wings had tangled in his red cloak, sweeping it back from his head and revealing the fully-extended horns.
It certainly made Sephiroth pause. The twins had a good hold on their transformation… outside of a battle situation or moments of extreme emotional instability—which for the twins, was not often at all—they never lost control on their human forms. Frowning, he might still have said something as Chaos yanked Vincent up, sending his mug of tea crashing to the ground and shattering at their feet if Chaos had not wrenched away long enough to stare him down with those eyes—which had bled entirely into their demonic gold that glowed slightly with their own internal light—and told him hoarsely to "Leave!"
The mage nearly cringed at the amount of desperation that seeped through in that one word, and despite his better judgment he slipped out of the room, awaiting the conclusion of Chaos's inexplicable outburst. From the last look he threw at the brothers, he could see that Chaos's plea had caused Vincent—who'd previously been stiff with shock and confusion—to wrap his arms around his brother, and who now looked to be murmuring into Chaos's ear.
Vincent was anxious. He could feel his twin's frustration, taste his fear, and the smell of his brother's blood nearly brought his fangs—his questions couldn't manage to sound calm and soothing as he gripped his brother's shoulders in an attempt to coax the answers out of him.
Chaos bared his fangs at the sound of his brother's voice in a bloody grimace—he'd bit down hard on his bottom lip, gashing it with his fangs—and tried to give the answers that would not come; there were so many words and they reverberated around his head and in his throat, choking him, silencing him. With a snarl, he kissed Vincent again, as if it would somehow magically convey his reasons and all his sudden doubts and fears, fisting clawed hands in the smooth material of Vincent's jacket and jerking it open. He felt fabric tear beneath his hands, and heard the buttons clatter to the ground as he opened his mouth against Vincent's, tongue thrusting out into his brother's mouth—he hissed as he sliced it along one elongated fang and tasted more of his own blood in his mouth.
Clearly Vincent could taste it too because he let out a deep, thrumming groan and his tongue darted out to Chaos's tangling with it as the blood ran in both their mouths; a taste, so very tantalizingly thin. When Chaos looked down at his brother's face and Vincent's eyes fluttered open to meet his, he could see they'd begun to bleed into a near-black like the finest in heartstone ruby. When Chaos slipped his tongue into his brother's mouth again, he could feel the sharpness of elongating fangs.
Yes, yes he wanted Vincent like this. Here, with him, strong, alive, and wanting him. He could smell the desire that lay thick beneath the scent of their demon's bloodlust. Yes, he thought frantically, clutching him closer, yes, yes, yessss…
Blood, sex, the loss of control… Vincent was feeding on it, drinking it down like the taste of his blood, and he had no inclination to try and feed calm back to Chaos, satisfied with the mounting wildness—enjoyingit, even. His hands grasped at the remnants of the shirt Chaos had worn—his shirt, he thought hazily for a brief half-moment—before tearing it off completely, and running his hands along that finely-muscled chest around to his twin's back where the wings protruded and his fingers drew lurid patterns in the drying blood coating Chaos's skin. For his part, an encouraging growl worked its way up Chaos's throat as he made short work of his brother's neatly-ironed shirt so he could draw them closer together, flesh against flesh, and ground their hips together.
He smiled, liking the sound of Vincent crying out against his mouth when he did that, even through the pants that they were both still wearing and were quickly becoming far too tight for comfort. Vincent was moving now, backwards, pulling Chaos along with him as he fumbled with his other hand, knocking over a chair with a loud crash in the process—it was easily ignored—as they stumbled in tandem, unwilling to separate. Bedroom, Chaos's mind told him hazily, though he'd have been quite content with just pushing his brother to the floor and taking him right then and there.
But Vincent wanted the bedroom. He always wanted the bedroom and never wanted to do anything out in the open despite the fact that no one would walk in that would have not already seen everything at least six times before. Even amongst the pack, Vincent liked it private. So the both of them managed to stumble their way in, crossing the expanse of the polished wooden floor like it was a mile wide, falling over several times and writhing together, tangling and bucking up against each other on the floor before they finally hit the door and fell into the half-darkness of the bedroom.
The moment the door shut, Vincent was purring, and everywhere all at once; pulling at the tattered shreds of his suit off his back and tossing them to the floor, his fingers fumbling with the buckles of Chaos's cloak, his mouth delivering bruising kisses to Chaos's lips, his jaw, his throat—his purr deepened with approval when Chaos cried out, bucking up against him at the delicate pricking of fangs that never really broke the skin. But oh how he wanted them to…
Control, control—Chaos didn't like Vincent's control. Well he did, but not now. He snaked his hand to the waistband of Vincent's pants and slipped several fingers in beneath the loose cinch of the belt, brushing the very tips of his claws along the tip of that hardness; a threat, a promise, neither, both. Whatever it was, it caused a mewling sound from Vincent's throat and a sharp pain in his neck as his brother bit down with those sharpened fangs, once, withdrawing immediately to lap at the blood that beaded on his skin—fed on his desire and his desperation. Yes, yes, yesss. Give him pain, give him teeth and fangs and blood and hurt—prove to him Vincent was there, with him, now, forever, always, please, please, please…!
Vincent's wings erupted outwards when they'd collapsed against the bed, the small of his back just barely resting against the side while Chaos's tongue ran along the planes of his chest. With a slightly feral grin up at Vincent's face, he bit down around the flesh of his brother's left nipple, his tongue toying with the hardened nub which sent Vincent's head thrashing and a sharp, strangled cry that could have been "oh lord!" or "more!" which Chaos thought was gratifying either way. His hand slipped up to the bulge in his brother's slacks and kneaded it gently once through the fabric before it began undoing the belt, button and zip that were in his way with a speed that seemed to delight his brother, judging from the purring moans and the way Vincent was rubbing up insistently against the palm of his hand.
As soon as Vincent's slacks slipped loose down his legs and he'd roughly kicked them off they were shifting again, Chaos was crashing back against the bed, his wings spread wide beneath him and his legs splayed open. Vincent was sliding down the length of him, undoing the slick leather pants with his teeth, the tips of his fangs scraping along his brother's skin making him shudder. He made a noise of appreciation when a tug at the waistband revealed that Chaos had not been wearing anything beneath the pants that Vincent slipped off those slim hips. He followed their slow removal with a trail of nips and licks; caresses of teeth and tongue that set Chaos snarling, his hands fisted in the sheets.
A short scuffle with Chaos's boots later, he was sliding back up, the both of them tangling around each other, their leathery wings sliding against each other in a shock of sensation as Chaos spread his over the both of them and Vincent took Chaos's mouth in another bruising kiss. They ran into problems when Chaos reached into the drawer next to the bed, and his lack of concentration caused his talons to puncture the tube—no, not a problem, but Chaos didn't like the look on Vincent's face when his hand reappeared slathered in the clear gel as if trying his hardest not to laugh. Chaos did not like being laughed at, even by his own brother. Grinding his hips against Vincent's and sliding up against the junction of Vincent's legs caused a slightly unfocused look of desire to replace the laughter. Much better, Chaos thought, something almost like grumpiness, almost like pride in his mental voice, reaching a hand down.
"No… no let me…" Vincent gasped, taking the tube away from him, smearing the gel thickly along Chaos's claws in the process—a subtle reminder. His transformation did not cause his nails to elongate into wicked-looking talons, and Chaos had spent many a night driven mad by those blunt, roughened fingertips dragged teasingly along his skin. Chaos retracted his hand—practicality returned; tempered by the satisfaction that came at the thought of Vincent preparing himself in front of him.
And his twin did not disappoint. Chaos pulled back far enough so that he could watch. Even the stiff stoicism that was Vincent could not help but redden under Chaos's eyes as he slicked his fingers in the gel, and slid them inside himself, one finger at a time, working them in deeper as Chaos purred from his position between Vincent's legs and leaned his face in close to Vincent's upraised hips as if determined not to miss a single moment. Fanged as he was, it was not hard for Vincent to relate him to the proverbial cat who had the cream, catnip mouse and unattended velvet couch all at the same time. He was also running his claws delicately along the skin of Vincent's inner thigh; waiting, waiting… it was as if he wanted to drive Vincent mad with that silent promise and he could feel himself moving faster, thrusting his fingers inside, reaching for that point, right there, yesss, oh he wanted tha—and Chaos had his hand clamped in a clawed vice of a grip.
"You're close," he snarled up the startled length of Vincent's chest, holding his eyes with gleaming gold, "I can smell your scent changing as you mount. You're not falling without me."
He jerked Vincent's fingers out of himself, setting his brother gasping as he crawled up the length of Vincent's body again to kiss him, dropping his brother's hand in favor of bracing his weight on one elbow and tangling his fingers in Vincent's short hair. So close… yesss, so close to him… he thrust his tongue into Vincent's mouth, angling his hips and guiding his cock between his brother's legs with his other hand. Vincent made a sound like a soft gasping whine against his mouth, kissing his and grasping desperately at Chaos's shoulders, clutching hard at the base of his wings with whitening knuckles.
It didn't take long for either of them. Desperation and eagerness and desire… it wasn't about the way there this time, it was about the fucking glorious end.
Vincent met Chaos's already-fast pace and rocked his hips hard against him, as if he was trying to take Chaos deeper in him than was physically possible. He was yelling something, something garbled and loud and unintelligible and it didn't matter what it was because Chaos was doing that, yes, yes just like that, more, yes, yes, and it didn't matter because he was close, so fucking close…
He hit the edge screaming; plummeting over it into a hot white blaze of pleasure with a long ragged cry. The rippling of his internal muscles in response sent Chaos plunging right after him, claws scoring lines down the flesh of Vincent's legs as he came, the scent of fresh blood finishing them both. The demon rose up in both of them, a cloud of metaphorical blood-red embraced them, took them, spiraling them down further than any other orgasm until they were left screaming and it felt—for a single moment—like they really were joined, one whole in a sea of fire, their own personal sin lost in a wave of the planet's.
Cloud's voice then, a whisper, an echo of the memory, came to them then, soft and wistful, "Are our sins ever forgiven?"
And then Vincent's voice, rough as he'd pulled his twin against him, "I've never tried."
Nor would he. Ever. That was what they decided every single time they came here and burned and branded themselves that much closer to each other.
The vision shattered suddenly, dissipating as quickly as it'd come down on them, and they were both thrown back into their respective bodies, gasping for air like they'd been drowning. Chaos fell forwards as if boneless, and lay for a moment against Vincent's heaving chest before slipping sideways next to him, their legs still tangled. He could feel the wings at his back folding in, crumpling down and melting back into the flesh of his back until his skin was smooth again; the stark lines detailing them etched into his flesh and the drying blood were the only signs that they had ever been. His horns too were sliding inwards and reforming as an extra layer of near-bone along his skull and he groaned from the effects of the afterglow and the dull ache of resurfacing humanity, nestling his face against the hollow of his brother's throat. "You won't leave me," he managed to whisper hoarsely, refusing to allow sleep to claim him just yet, "You'll never leave me."
His eyes begged for the promise that his lips couldn't and the greater part of his mind wouldn't allow. Vincent felt his throat closing, all his half-thought out assurances immediately forgotten. What could he say to that? Because he could hear that last 'ever' that Chaos couldn't quite seem to say, just from the desperate frustration that kept his brother's body rigid against him.
"It's… I…" Vincent stopped with a short growl at himself, "I will always try."
It didn't seem to be an adequate answer.
Chaos's answering frown seemed to second this. Vincent slid in closer in his brother's arms, so their lips brushed when he spoke. "We are who we are. We will live for a long time, the two of us. Longer than the humans, longer than our mother… isn't that enough?"
"I want more."
Vincent had never known his twin brother to ever sound this close to petulant, but there was also the beginnings of a resigned fear that he did not want to see, ever, when he looked into Chaos's eyes. Anger, jealousy, madness—those he knew, those he knew how to calm, assuage, control. Chaos had always been the one most demon about the two of them. Chaos should not know that kind of fear—he wouldn't know what to do with it.
"It's not that simple."
Chaos's frowned deepened. He was… they were… they were demons. Demons liked things simple. He said as much.
"But we're also human." Sometimes Chaos forgot that—until he looked at his brother who looked all too human, sometimes too much for his liking. "And there's nothing more complex than humanity." Vincent shifted, hissing at the sharp pain from the bite mark ringing his nipple, and wrapping his other arm around Chaos's shoulders securely, "We're just going to have to live through it, you and I…"
He hitched up his lips in a tired, sleepy smile—transforming back and forth in a short amount of time was wearying, but Chaos was stubborn and he would refuse to sleep unless he got an answer. "And you won't think about being alone. When the end comes, you and I will meet it together."
Despite the uncertain frown on Chaos's face, it seemed like that was close enough to a promise for his twin; it didn't take much encouraging thereafter to coax him to slip into the near-deathlike state which was how the two slept—the barest hint of breathing and a near-imperceptible chest rising and falling.
For his part, he lay awake in the semi-darkness of the room, the last strains of daylight bleeding through the edges of the drawn curtains… still light enough for his now mostly human eyes to pick out his brother's features as he tugged him even closer. It was a hard thing, being forced to come so close to promising against something that haunted his thoughts every single day of his life. His demon sensibilities warred against this attachment to anything, this excuse to be so profoundly hurt so very easily… but he refused to have it any other way. Chaos was his. Only his. The others might touch them, take them, but they would never really step into the circle of the two of them.
He needed him.
Please… please don't take Chaos away…
Shutting from the sky I fallen
Shutting from the sky I fallen
So… um… so. ^^; I don't really know what to say about this one. It went from a little weird, to a little fucked up.