Author's Note: Vincent comes home after a self-commissioned mission, eager to have Yuffie for himself. What he doesn't count on, however, is Yuffie's disgruntled reaction to his disappearance.
Smut, as a challenge to a comment I saw posted somewhere around here about "Glorified sex being the only kind sustainable in famdom". I hope this busts that wall down. So this was a huge challenge for me, just to see if I could do it. It was meant to be a quick one-shot Yuffietine, which turned into 12 pages of drawn out angsty sex, which I've decided isn't done yet.
"Yuffie, Greatest Ninja in the World, how can I help you?"
Silence on the other end. She snapped her phone shut, staring at it as a smile gripped her expression. "He's coming home: Today."
She looked away from the window when the door opened, and her eyes soaked in the sight of him as he entered the room, pulling off his cloak.
A smile captured her lips. "I've been waiting for you."
That was all. No 'I was worried', or 'I'm glad you're home'. Just a simple reminder of her faith in him and the desire she held to see him once again. His garnet eyes followed her as she moved from one window to another. He didn't need to say anything: in fact it would have concerned her if he did. She knew he was just as glad to see her as she was to see him.
"Barrett called today," she said conversationally. "He said Cloud and Tifa came to visit Marlene. I guess Cloud was wondering where you had gotten to. Barrett was wondering if I knew." Their eyes met through the reflection of the window. "Of course I told him that I had no idea, and truthfully, at the time, I hadn't."
"Cloud knows where I am now."
She turned slightly, displaying a playful pout. "Does he? Here I was hoping the little game of hide and seek between the two of you would last at least a month. I wanted to surprise them next week and show up at the bar."
"We can still do that, if you'd like."
She waved the thought away. "Nah, I think I was just making arbitrary plans for the sake of doing something while you were gone."
Vincent felt the corners of his lips tug into a small smile. She used a four syllable word in a sentence, that wasn't materia, of course.
She turned more, facing him fully. The mischievous glint was gone from her eyes as she took in the sight of him: He had left behind his usual depressing garb (at her encouragement) and had taken to wearing low cut leather pants and just a shirt, unless he was fighting. She noted the presence of his shoulder plates as he unbuckled the armor to reveal a simple black button up. Of course, none of this was done without Vincent's personal flair: There were at least three belts hanging at his hips, and he was never far away from his cloak, which resembled his old one in color, but the buckles were different and it no longer had the appearance that it had been a feast for a moth. His hair, flowing free about his face, was as long as ever, and served as an excellent curtain to hide his thoughts, or indeed, simply hide behind.
Yuffie subconsciously chewed her lower lip as she gazed at him. How long had it been since he left, saying he would be gone 'for a short time'? Far longer than a short time. She knew it when he told her too. "Short time means something different to me than to you, Vinnie." He had never replied. "Vincent Valentine, I swear to god, if you leave me…"
A knot formed in her stomach as she recalled those moments: he had not answered, but swept across the floor, angling his mouth over hers in a most fervent kiss.
"I missed you," she managed to murmur, her voice strangled as it forced itself from her throat.
His armor removed, the entirety of his attention rested on her every word, few though they were. There was a short pause as he let the words wash over him like a cooling wave, and again his silence preceded his actions as, like the day he left, his strides led him one, two, three steps closer. Each footfall was marked by the deafening echo of his boots on the wooden floor, each heavy step a telling prologue to what she knew was coming.
Yet it didn't come. She had closed her eyes upon his second step, knowing with his long legs it would take him only three steps to clear the distance between them. One more thud of his boot to the floor sounded, and she could feel his presence as she tilted her face upwards in anticipation. But the torturous pressure of his lips against hers never came. He was there at least: she could hear his heavy breathing, and could feel whispers of his hair tickling her chin and cheeks.
She did not dare to open her eyes. Was he upset? Had she done something wrong? Perhaps he was just tired: she could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him like waves. Still, impatiently (as she was known to be) her hands found his arms, grasping the familiar metal and the comforting flesh beneath his cotton shirt. "Vinnie?"
Again, he gave no reply, just exhaling; his breath cooling her skin. Yuffie shuddered, gasping as she felt the tiniest of brushes against her jaw. She knew the feel of his lips. She had tasted their sweetness and examined them with her own in a moment of great concentration; and as light as the touch was, the ninja knew it was delivered by his lips.
She sighed as her name whispered against her neck, relishing in the knowledge that he would choose to assault her there next. A soft pressure on her pulse point caused the woman to moan softly, her arms reaching out to hold her gunslinger.
His lips moved again, pressing soft kisses along the column of her neck, feeding from her slightest movements and softest sighs.
"Vincent," she breathed, tilting her head back to allow him better access to her ivory skin. At the sound of his name, he grew suddenly very possessive, and his arms circled her with alarming force. She was not opposed to being pressed flush against the tall man, however, but gave a surprised cry when he bit down on the soft flesh of her shoulder, leaving a mark nestled just high enough that anyone could see it, were she to wear her regular style of shirt.
He took a moment to admire it before his red eyes flashed up to his victim's face. "Did I hurt you too badly?"
"Yes!" she snapped, but he could see the laughter in her eyes. "Jesus, Vinnie, when I said you were a vampire, I didn't mean to suggest anything."
"My apologies," he murmured, casting his eyes down to her milky flesh once more. "Allow me to make amends," he said, pressing his lips upon the sore spot.
Her arms wound around his neck, moaning appreciatively as his skilled lips and tongue danced over her stinging wound, lapping away the pain.
"You taste like the rain."
His voice was so deep and quiet, and her mind so fogged by her lust that she was not sure if she had heard him correctly, or heard him at all. It was certainly not a thing she had ever heard him say before. She was distracted as his hand came to her face, holding her head as his teeth nipped at her ear, earning another pleased moan from the writhing girl.
"Vinnie, gods, Vincent, stop teasing me."
Another nip to her ear lobe, and then a low growl: "No."
"Vincent," she repeated warningly.
He drew slightly away and looked her in the eye. "Yuffie," he returned.
It was enough just to look at him. Her eyes held his for what felt like eternity, yet she found she could not look away, for anytime less than eternity would not be enough. "Vincent," she murmured, breaking the silence reluctantly. Her eyes remained fixed on his, however, although her hands slid from around his neck to grip his shoulders tightly. "Where was it you went?"
Ruby eyes shifted back and forth from each of hers, trying to make out the nature of the question. Curiosity? Jealousy? Anger? Unable to decide, he remained quiet.
"You took Cerberus, and your armor; most of the materia, too." Her eyes searched his just as he searched hers. "I was so afraid."
"I'm fine," he assured, but as soon as he said it, he knew it was unwise of him to do. "Had I suspected any danger, I would have told you."
He mentally winced: she was right. On the outside, however, he kept his gaze levelly on the interrogating girl.
"Cloud didn't know where you were either, which means wherever you went wasn't for AVALANCHE."
His arms remained comfortably looped around Yuffie's torso as he attempted to remedy the situation without causing her to leave him: he had just returned home, and he was in no mood to be deprived of her warmth. "I did not say it was for AVALANCHE," he calmly stated, watching with mild disappointment as Yuffie's expression grew more irritable.
Yet with a measure of awe he watched as the annoyance only stole her countenance for a short moment, replaced very swiftly by a stronger emotion. In her eyes, tears brimmed at her lower lashes. Not often did he witness the Wutai Princess cry, and moments when she did broke his heart. His hand lifted to cradle her face, pleased when she leaned into his touch rather than draw away from it.
As she sought comfort from the warmth of his hand, her eyes fluttered closed and the last of her will subsided as hot tears spilled over her eyelids and made tracks down her cheeks. Within an instant she felt the gunslinger's lips on her face, kissing away the salty drops with great care. Every touch was deliberate and drawn out, inciting passion as she had felt it before she had been stolen from its grasp by her sorrow. "What if you had been killed?"
He exhaled impatiently. "I wasn't," he grunted, his lips hovering over her skin. When it seemed she would pursue the matter no further, his lips sought her jaw, earning a quiet sigh, and an encouraging whisper as her hands left his shoulders and wound their way around his neck once more.
The cold metal of his claw slipped in beneath her tank top, edging it up her back and revealing more of her supple flesh. Her lips parted at the sensation of cool metal on her skin, delighting in the familiar tingle that shot up her spine. Still, as desperately as she wanted him, her heart cried out. "Do you realize you left me with no hint as to where you went, when you would come back, or why you were going?"
He bit at her skin a little more forcefully before replying, "I did realize that."
Her hands sunk into his hair, pulling his face back so she could look at him. "I thought you were dead."
He did not break her gaze, but as he saw the flickering hurt in her eyes, he sympathized with her. Yet he had known the consequences, and also knew the consequences of telling her of his quest: because of this, the latter had gained his respect, while the first gained his favor. "Forgive me," he said. "It was my intention to quell your worry rather than initiate it."
She blinked at him. "What?"
"I did not tell you, because I did not want you to be worried."
"That is ridiculous!" she barked, her fingers digging a little more into his hair. "I knew because you didn't tell me, it was something worth being truly concerned about. I'm not stupid, ass face."
He quirked an eyebrow: "Ass face?"
"Yes; ass face." Her brow dented and she looked away, starting at his collar bone as she searched for understanding. "You really were in danger, weren't you?"
"The conditions were less than favorable."
Her eyes flashed up to meet his again. Her fingers tightened their grip on his hair as she constrained herself from slapping him clear across the face. Her teeth gritted. "I don't understand. If you had just told me, I would have come to help."
An amused smile twisted awkwardly on his lips. "That is precisely why you were not informed."
Her hands left his hair and balled into fists at her sides while she spluttered to express the proper words to explain her fury. Finally, she managed: "I'm not a kid!"
She seethed, grabbing his arms and removing them from around her. "I'm going to bed," she declared, turning to stalk away. She was stopped however, by the solid grip of his gauntlet on her wrist.
"No, you're not."
"Excuse me?" she shot back, whirling to face him.
One step was all it took this time to fill the gap between them. There was a density about the air as he stared down at her; his gaze full of desire as hers was trying to fight that same emotion away with her stubborn indignation. Again, it seemed like eternity, but what felt like forever, staring into his garnet eyes, was really only a fraction of a second before his lips captured hers in a searing kiss.
Infuriating man! Her mind screamed, her fingers gripping at his biceps. This was what she had wanted from the very second he had walked through the door, yet he did not give in to her until she had uncovered all of the anger and remorse toward him that she had desperately wanted to lock away. She missed him too much to argue: she wanted to hold him, love him and forgive him… at least for one night.
The damage, however, had already been done. As his tongue pushed into the hot cavern of her mouth she did not think to marvel at the taste of spice he always presented, instead, she thought only of the prospect of his leaving her, and the pain it had caused. With sudden rage she bit down, trapping him and earning a low grunt of displeasure.
They tore apart from each other, Vincent in mild discomfort and Yuffie in apparent disgust.
"What exactly was that supposed to accomplish?" He asked; his fiery eyes locked on her face.
Her lip curled. "I could ask you the same thing," she retorted. "Did you think a kiss was going to make everything better?"
A chunk of raven hair fell over one of his eyes. "I was entertaining the thought."
She growled in frustration. "If you're not even going to try to understand how upset I am, I don't want to be around you right now."
"I understand perfectly, Yuffie, but what's done is done." His eyes wandered over her body that had pulled itself away from him entirely. "Now, I am tired and I am in no mood to argue with you."
"That's a damn shame," she snapped, "because that's all I want to do with you."
A moment of stunted silence trapped her, and she felt cornered as the man's eyes snapped to her face. One, two steps and he had her in his grips again, staring down at her with a conviction she had never witnessed in him. "I can change your mind."
She could feel all of the defiance she had built up slowly start to crumble away. It was as if his eyes held the sole ability to knock away every brick she placed up and replace her feelings of bitterness with pure desire. All at once the sensations that had been blocked by her anger became apparent and unavoidable: his scent was intoxicating-- a mixture of gunpowder and cedar trees. "I can change your mind," he had said. His hands were on her hips, the pointed tips of his golden gauntlet digging a little too forcefully into her skin.
"You-" she gathered all of her strength to force the words out of her. "You're really pissing me off."
He knew. She knew that he knew. She could feel it in his unheeding clutch, see it in the form of a smirk set annoyingly on his face. She could also see he had given up on trying to fix it. If she wouldn't forgive him, he'd leave it and let it come up on its own some other time. Some time when he was not tired and sore and burning for her. The gunslinger's lips tentatively ensnared Yuffie's, the slow rhythmic motions of his tongue sliding against her own very effective in proving his point.
The point she had made of refusing to touch him shattered when her hands found themselves digging into dark silky hair, drawing him as close as she could get him, her own tongue fighting back against his. She knew she was letting him win; and with the disappointment of this discovery, her kiss grew slightly fierce. Yet she had wanted this, hadn't she? She had missed him desperately and dreamed of holding him like this again, so in a way… she was winning. She simply had to maintain the pretense that she was in charge.
The change in momentum was obvious to Vincent. Her fingers clutched him no longer with desperation, but with a kind of intent he was so used to seeing from Yuffie Kisaragi. But despite her willingness to return his attentions, he was not oblivious to the resentment that drove her efforts. He felt her hands leave his hair and begin the painstaking process of unbuttoning his shirt, like a woman truly in charge. Not today, he decided. He had spent that past three weeks sleeping on dank floors dreaming of when he could come home to her: to sweep her off her feet and make love to her, but then she pulled the question on him. "Where was it you went?" she had asked, genuinely concerned. Of course he couldn't tell her; it was a matter of her safety. The situation was not under control as of yet, and he could not risk her wishing to go out and fight the creature herself. AVALANCHE would need to be informed, and the situation handled from there. If the gunslinger had his way, it would all be kept at a safe distance from Yuffie.
Now, however, he knew she would not forgive him for making her stay at home. He was in the wrong, he knew, but he did it for her safety.
He gasped for breath as her lips left his, and he sought out the sweet flesh of her neck while she concentrated on removing his shirt, but his arms remained closed around her, making it impossible for her to pull it off. If he could not win in an argument, he knew he could at least win at this.
It was with these thoughts that the battle commenced, and despite Vincent's considerable advantage in height and weight, it was a battle not easily fought. They clawed at each other's clothing, but succeeded only in looking a little more disheveled than when they started. Yuffie's leg wrapped domineeringly around his hip, only to be counteracted as Vincent hoisted her other leg up, and slammed her back against the wall.
She was gasping, partly in frustration, partly in excursion, but mostly because Vincent's hand had pushed up beneath her shirt (no bra? He felt his brain melt slightly as a moan escaped his lips) and groped one of her breasts while his mouth locked over the others' nipple through the fabric of her top. She was losing control, quickly, and hurriedly jerked her hips against her lover's, making him groan loudly as his ministrations lulled for a short moment.
He regained the loss by aggressively shoving up her top and yanking it up over her head. His eyes ran over the pert mounds then flickered up to her face. "Are you still too angry for me to continue?" he asked. There was sarcasm in his voice; the vicious kind that only Vincent was able to produce. He hoped she would stick out her tongue at him; the girlish gesture she still hadn't grown out of. He could find a better use for that tongue of hers, one that was far from childish.
She didn't play into his fantasy, however, but yanked on his hair, tilting his head backward. She lowered her gaze and breathed hotly against his neck, smiling as a low rumble sounded from somewhere deep within him. "Still angry, Vinnie, but you knew that." He made to give the impression of leaving her, but her hips shifted, pressing her self against the agonizing bulge in his pants. "Well, Valentine? You going to finish what you started?"
His eyes widened slightly, only half paying attention to the onslaught of wet kisses she was admonishing to his neck. She knew better than to challenge him, yet the threat made the achievement of victory all the more necessary. Forgetting entirely about her breasts, now exposed to him, he locked his arms beneath her and lifted her away from the wall. He could acutely feel her legs tightening around him and her naked chest pressing against his own. Her hot lips on his neck never ceased their attack as he maneuvered them down a hallway, stopping occasionally, driving her back to a wall to regain balance or simply possession of her lips.
His frustration with her stubbornness had caused it, but it was his need for her to drove him on. Here or there he'd nip a little harder than usual, or let his gauntlet scratch a little deeper into her skin, just to make sure she was aware of his dominance, no matter how hard she fought to gain control of the situation. Though his lust controlled most of his thoughts, the ex-Turk could not help but feel slight remorse at the circumstances surrounding his homecoming. He had hoped she wouldn't be upset: he expected it, but still he hoped. He had the whole scenario pictured perfectly: coming home and retiring to their bedroom, not emerging until breakfast the next morning. They both grunted as he pressed her back forcefully against the door, behind which their chambers lay. Lips crashed together in the lull of movement, each trying desperately to hang on to the idea of their fight, but admittedly, neither could see much farther than the heat of their passion.
Yuffie was still trying to rationalize her passion by instead calling it anger, but she knew as her arms held him close to her and her tongue tangled with his, that her desire would win out any time. In fact, she was already admitting to herself (and Vincent through the small moans and encouraging whimpers) that she had wanted and needed this for a long time: that she had missed him too terribly to be parted from him any longer. Her fury would just have to wait.
The door swung open. Somehow in the flurry of kisses and touches, Vincent's hand had reached behind her and given the latch a forceful push, sending him tumbling into the room, Yuffie's weight levering him forward.
With an unceremonious thud, he dropped her back on their bed; the king sized habitat covered in rich rust colored blankets and pillows, made from the finest silk in Wutai. How many times had he looked down at her like this? Her chest heaving and her face flushed, while her hands skillfully unbuckled and removed his belts with precision and speed only practice could produce. As the last was freed, he crawled over her, his hair like a curtain around them both. "Beautiful," he murmured, his bare palm cupping one of her breasts; but his eyes had not strayed from her gaze. "I've missed your beautiful face."
Yuffie fought hard against the entrancing capabilities of his voice. He was a fairly straight-forward man any other time: speaking exactly what he thought, and exactly the way he meant it (when it was appropriate and absolutely necessary, that is). But when they were alone in this room… maybe it was the aspect of sanctuary; that he knew no one would ever hear his words except for his ninja, or maybe it only occurred when all the blood had left his head and traveled, well, elsewhere… he spoke words to her like she had never heard him utter before. Snatches of poetic verses, strings of compliments, soft declarations of his affection; all in the deep melodic hum of his voice.
His words were usually coveted; sometimes being the sole thing that could draw her back from the drastic high his fiery touch had thrown her on. It was the voice that reminded her that while everything seemed inconsistent, he was always there.
There he was indeed. They had been together for god knows how long now (it was really only a little less than a year, but Yuffie liked to pretend otherwise, claiming he had been addicted to her from the moment they found him in his dingy old coffin) but it still rendered her breathless to see the gunslinger hovered over her: his red eyes filled with lust, his breathing made ragged by his need for her. The great Vincent Valentine: the untouchable demon possessed by his sin. Her fingers moved from his hair to touch his face. Possessed no longer; he was entirely hers. The hand ran along his jaw and glided down the ivory column of his neck where the collar of his unbuttoned shirt still lay like a barricade. The corners of her mouth turned up in a grin, for nothing held Yuffie Kisaragi back.
Vincent watched her carefully as the determined grin captured her face and her hands moved to push the black cotton shirt off of his shoulders. Her touch was rushed, but she still found time to find pleasure in running her palms over the taught muscles of his flexed back. He shifted his weight to one arm as one sleeve was being removed and to the other when it came time for the next. She tugged the unwanted garment from his wrist, the gauntlet causing slightly more resistance. He flexed the metal hand, examining it and Yuffie as her fingers laced with the cool digits. "Would you like if I…"
"No," she said quite abruptly. Her eyes snapped to his face from where they had once stared at the contrast of flesh and steel. "No, leave it on."
He knew he need not have asked. It was likely the ninja in her that liked it: the possibility of danger even in the midst of a most tender act brought a certain excitement with it even though they both knew she would never suffer by his hand, biological or not. The claw was given to him for a reason, however: a reminder of the monster that he was. He closed his eyes softly as he felt her lips on his collarbone while her deft fingers worked at the front of his trousers. He liked to think that she wanted it left on for the same reason: to remind him, during a most tender act, that he was a monster and she loved every part of him.
Of course she was still too put out with him to show her love in quite a sentimental way. His pants undone, the ninja hiked them down as far as she could manage and growled up at the dark haired man looming over her. "Come on, Valentine, you're wasting my time."
His eyes narrowed at her briefly before he dropped his head to capture a nipple in his teeth, causing the woman to gasp in surprise and pleasure. He managed to do this and undo her knee length shorts while he attempted to remain as graceful as he could muster with a pair of well-fitting leather pants half-way down his thighs. All the while her little command was rolling around in his mind; making the ex-Turk think of all kinds of ways that he could really slow down their progress. His erection, hidden unsuccessfully by his boxers, railed at the idea; but the game, it seemed, was not lost yet.
Yuffie didn't think so either, being a horrible loser was just part of who she was. She had been Vincent's lover long enough to know what he did and did not like, and fast 'just cuz we've got a minute' fucks weren't his favorite. Of course, when the occasion called for it, he'd have her up against a wall (like five minutes before they were meant to leave for Cloud and Tifa's engagement party) or on the kitchen table (while they were supposed to be entertaining fellow AVALANCHE members in the drawing room of the Shinra Mansion). But when one or the other came back from a mission on which the other hadn't been assigned, they made up for the time spent apart by slow and deliberate sex, once, twice, three times during the night.
She wasn't sure when or how it occurred (her thoughts were almost entirely consumed by his skillful attention to her breasts) but he had pulled off her shorts, leaving her naked to him expect for her bright yellow panties, with a goofy looking chocobo head depicted right in the center. Perturbed by the cease of his touch on her skin she tilted her head so she could see what he was looking at. Recognizing the chocobo as the most likely reason for his distraction, she firmly seized his hand and dragged him back up to her face. "Birthday," she explained, her breath too short for full sentences. "Tifa."
His mouth opened as he gave a silent indication of understanding, and just like that the matter was lost, his attention focused on stealing her lips in another demanding kiss, during which he kicked off his boots and wrangled his pants off of his legs and onto the floor.
Yuffie's mind was quickly losing its thoughts of revenge as the gunslinger's tongue invaded the darkest corners of her mouth, his taste infiltrating her senses. It would have been a lot easier to grab him and flip him over if he wasn't such a damn good kisser, she decided, her arm hooking around his neck as her own tongue shot into his mouth. Of course, it wasn't helping her cause that his hands had begun their torturous wander, skimming over her breasts, gliding along the dip of her waist, slipping beneath her to firmly grab her ass and pull her hips flush with his. Her back involuntarily arched when she felt his length pressed between them, giving in to the desire to have him inside of her. "Vincent," she gasped as their kiss broke, one arm around his neck as her free fingers brushed along his chest and abs, snaking down to the waist band of his underwear, fingertips poking just beneath the elastic.
Would he give her what she wanted? The gunslinger was unsure of the answer himself; gazing down at her flushed face and chest. His mouth, still hovering close to her formed the words she so desired to hear. "Let me have you," he said, his breath hot on her ear. "Now." His hands that still held her hips lifted her away from the mattress once more, his thumbs hooking in the straps of the bright yellow underwear and dragging them down her thighs.
"It's about bloody time!" she cried in exasperation, kissing him quickly before her own hands went to work on carefully removing his boxers and releasing the raging heat of his erection. Her fingers touched him in appreciation, and a soft whisper left her lips. "I need you so bad."
He wasn't certain he had heard her properly. Normally his hearing and perception was spot on, but as the pads of her slender fingers grazed his member, he had reason to be excused if his attention was elsewhere. His next breath left him very slowly. She. Only she had the power to do this to him: to completely steal away all five of his senses with once fell swoop. She had beauty that made his soul weep, a voice as light and cheerful as the air in spring, or as dark as a summer's storm. She tasted like rain pouring directly from the heavens: the kind the gods saved for very special occasions, and she smelled like honeysuckle and spice. Her touch… She felt warm and comforting, but beneath her supple flesh lay muscles hard as stone, prepared to fight any foe, and her fingers…
His attention was drawn once again to the attention she was dealing him, her hand now stroking him in long deft motions. He found himself reaching for her wrist automatically, drawing her hand away and leaving a gentle kiss on her palm. He left it then to continue his wanderings, knuckles brushing the soft skin along her hip and down her thigh.
She grabbed his hand roughly, sliding it up the inside of her leg where hidden beneath dark curls her passage wait, wet and ready for him.
His fingers drew themselves along the lips of her womanhood, dipping into its warmth with teasing inconsistency. A dirty phrase in Wutaii slipped passed his lips, earning a light satisfied chuckle from the White Rose as her legs impatiently parted farther for him, her hands winding in his hair and drawing his lips to hers with a force unguided, like magnets.
Vincent let a slip of a slime mark his face while his tongue raked along her own, feeling both of her hands in his hair.
One finger. Gasp. Two fingers. Whimper. His digits slid inside of her easily, infiltrating her core with an expedition like mentality. Useless, he thought to himself, his fingers prodding inside of her, reaching for the places he knew would make her writhe. He was far too practiced at this for it to be of any use anymore; and she had likely been ready for him from the moment he bit her neck, not moments after he walked in the door. Slowly, torturously he pulled them from her, wiping the moistness from them on her stomach and shifting himself over her.
In their kiss he could feel her anticipation. Her hands clutched a little tighter at his had, and her tongue retreated, her lips nibbling lightly on his instead as he positioned himself at her opening, whispering her name lowly as he pushed himself inside of her: an inch at first, then another and another, and then he'd pull out and start again, one inch, two, four, lost count…
Yuffie's teeth tugged at his bottom lip as his presence engulfed her, making sure to bite a little harder, to emphasize that although she was about to teeter off the edge of the world due to his touch and his alone: she was mega pissed off at the gunslinger. She could feel the familiar pressure inside of her; the push of his cock to the very limit, the furthest he could possibly reach, and she too was pressed at the base of his member. Vincent had too much decency to say so, but Yuffie had commented it on their very first time.
"Vinnie, we fit so perfectly!"
Perfect in every other sense was far from who they really were, and so they had clung to the idea very closely; even in her anger clouded mind, Yuffie pulled the memory and it's meaning out of hiding, clutching to it as he began to draw out of her once more, then snapped his hips to thrust inside.
She swore the lights dimmed and that she went temporarily deaf all in the same instant, for so heightened in that moment was her sense of touch that all else was pushed aside. Her mind reeled with all of the sensations that overcame her. Her muscles tightened, a dizzy feeling clouded her mind, but over the ringing in her head she was abruptly aware of the sharp hiss of pleasure that sounded in her ear, and the momentary lapse of strength in his limbs. There was his hole in defense.
In an instant, in a blur, the Kunoichi had him rolled onto his back, still impaled on his manhood, grinning lecherously down at him.
"What are you doing?" he asked flatly.
Yuffie's smile grew a little wider and a little more malicious as she rotated her hips, causing his fingers to clutch at the bedspread. "Winning," she uttered cheerily, drawing herself up and slamming down onto him again.
Red eyes snapped shut and his mouth twitched, his hands leaving the bedspread (part of which had been torn by his claw's sudden attack) and gripping her hips, feeling out her rhythm before thrusting up to meet her as she drove down from the apex of her stride. He couldn't recall ever using this position more than once before; and it was early in their relationship while they were still trying to pin down the best ways to please each other; if he recalled correctly (which his mako infused mind almost always did) this one hadn't done Yuffie any favors. Then why would she… "Winning," she had described it as. If it weren't for the position of dominance she held over him, Vincent certainly wouldn't call his current situation losing, per say. Every slight move she made sent waves of pleasure crashing over him, and he could quite get used to not having control if this were the consequence. His hips bucked into her again, but he knew it was futile; the way she was shifted, while it caused such sweet friction for him, did not give her the same opportunity for fulfillment as it did he. Yet trying to move her proved to be just as futile; she was completely set on finishing this her self, her stubbornness driving her to push through a rather unpleasant round of sex. She'd keep pushing until she met her end, or if it appeared he would beat her to it, she'd fake it and get up to leave with most of her dignity (if not her self-respect) in tact. Winning indeed. He grunted as she slammed uncomfortably onto him, a grimace crossing her face where there should have been a mouth open in awe. It's her own damn fault, he figured, pumping into her with the intent to finish. There was no sense waiting for something that wasn't about to happen.
Her jaw dropped when she felt his fingers clutch her hips, slamming into her with extra force, guiding her rise and fall as if he had could control her, even like this! Yuffie suppressed a snarl and arched backward, trying to get something out of this. The feel of him inside of her always gave her the sweetest chills, bit like this the spots that needed to be hit just weren't getting what they craved. Vincent, or more importantly, the look on his face, was not helping. He was murmuring things to her in Wutaii, soft endearments, whispers of encouragement, but she couldn't hear them. She bit down on her lip, clenching her muscles to amplify the sensations between them and squeezing back the tears of frustration that threatened to fall. Oh how desperately she wanted to hear his voice.
Then she did; only, it was not at all what she wanted to hear. Instead, from his mouth left her name; a dry cry in his gruff tenor while his hands held her hips against his own. She stared at him in horror when she felt it: the familiar feeling of his seed spilling inside of her and the extra little thrust he gave at the end, only usually her mind was too far off at this point to register his completion. He was breathing heavily as he tilted his head to the side, his neck cracking and a horribly self-satisfied grin on his lips. The hands that had once burned fiery paths on her skin moved down her thighs and away, crossing under his head like a pillow. Once completely comfortable, his eyes flickered up to meet hers.
She was still staring at him as though Chaos himself had just sprouted a head from his shoulder and was making threatening faces at her. She had been stark still all the while, and only when she felt him growing soft inside of her did she dare to rip her eyes away from his and remove herself from him. One leg, two legs off the bed; with a lot of huffing and muttering as she went. "Fucking smug bastard," she cursed, throwing another sharp glare over her shoulder, trying to ignore the heat of his essence sliding down the inside of her thigh. Making a hasty retreat she snatched his shirt up off of the floor and shrugged it over her shoulders, sauntering out of the room and closing the door forcefully behind her.
The moment she was gone his arms slid out from beneath his head, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the bed. He was in deeper than he had intended, and he was becoming more and more aware of it the colder and colder he got, laying naked on the bed without Yuffie to keep him warm in the afterglow of his not-so-great-but-good-enough-to-piss-the-woman-off climax. Of course, he had pulled a dick move and not let her finish, which was the cause for every remaining voice in his head reprimanding him with cajoling choruses of 'Valentine, you're an ass.' A human hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose, betraying his emotions quiet expressively as he so uncommonly allowed. The empty room, however, did not judge.
Author's Note: This is part one to a series of two. Next Chapter: The begging commences.