Disclaimer: The author owns nothing but ideas.
Had some trouble organizing this one. Originally this chapter was going to be giant. It was going to lay out most of the complications of the relationship, but then I asked myself "Why rush?" So many layers to go through, I might as well take my time. So this chapter isn't as angsty as I had planned (maybe that's a good thing?).
Gah! to intimacy. I feel like I imply sex so much I should just write it, but I've never written a lemon before... thinking about it makes me nervous o_o; Some people can write well done, original sex scenes. Others just pretty much copy and paste material from other fiction. I almost don't want to even attempt in case I'm horrible ._.;; Think about it later...
As always, thanks for the reviews! I get the feeling Cloud will be getting even more sympathy as the story goes on. Poor Cloud indeed.
The slender fingers in his hair had woken him from a peaceful sleep, but he didn't mind. The feeling of soft fingertips running bold lines against his scalp was wonderfully familiar and when they slid down the back of his head and brushed his neck, he shivered pleasantly. Sephiroth shifted and slipped his arms around the warm body next to him, his long fingers curling in the cloth of the other man's pajama shirt as he pulled Vincent against him possessively. The hand in his hair paused and Sephiroth cracked his eyes open to see Vincent's face turned towards him, the red irises of his eyes glowing mutely as they stared back at him.
A large hand drifted down Vincent's side and past the bottom of his boxers. Sephiroth gripped the smooth thigh beneath his fingers and smirked at the way Vincent's dark lashes fluttered when he slipped his digits under the silky material of the man's underwear and against his skin. The pale-haired warrior brought his face to Vincent's warm cheek and used his teeth to tug the flannel collar of Vincent's pajama shirt from his neck.
When Sephiroth had first discovered Vincent's pajamas he had laughed. The very thought of the quiet man sleeping in the warm-looking, slightly fuzzy clothes had been both bizarre and hilarious. Vincent had informed him plainly that the outfit had been a gift from Tifa, which had resulted in Sephiroth dissolving into another fit of giggles. He had figured they were probably a gift; he doubted the serious ex-Turk would have picked out the red flannel pajamas printed with little black chocobos for himself. Sephiroth had somehow convinced Vincent to wear the amusing outfit to bed, after which he had promptly stolen the man's pants only to be mildly disappointed when he found out Vincent had worn boxers beneath his pajama pants. Somewhere between entering the bed and going to sleep, Sephiroth had pulled the pants onto his own long legs and he had to admit, they were quite comfortable despite their ridiculousness. Not to mention the near half-naked Vincent looked especially molestable in is chocobo print shirt. He was beginning to understand Vincent could make just about anything look attractive.
Vincent released a soft sigh when he felt Sephiroth's nose brush his hair and the man's lips against his ear. The hand on his leg was firm; the pad of a long thumb rubbed slow circles on the inside of his thigh. Sephiroth was being unusually gentle, but he was unpredictable bordering on dangerous. There was always darkness lurking behind Sephiroth's eyes and his moods shifted often and easily.
The arm Sephiroth had curled around his waist eased from its spot between his back and the bed and the green-eyed man slid his broader body on top of Vincent. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against his bedmate's. His bangs brushed Vincent's darker, messier hair and a lock of Sephiroth's long white-silver tresses spilled over one of his wide shoulders and pooled on Vincent's chest.
Sephiroth's right hand left its comfortable spot on Vincent's leg, trailing back up the man's side and under his shirt. He pushed the thick flannel up and allowed his fingers to ghost over the pale flesh of Vincent's abdomen. Green eyes gazed at red intently, waiting for a reaction, but even in the darkness of the room he could see Vincent's expression was calm and closed. He could never tell what Vincent was thinking when he did this, but he never told Sephiroth to stop. Even if Vincent asked him to, Sephiroth was not sure he would. It was practically his right after all...
Cat-like pupils greedily took in the pallid, well-muscled chest and the man's long, graceful legs, spread just far enough for Sephiroth to rest between them. Vincent was slender and lacked the powerful upper body muscles of a melee fighter. The gunslinger's body was built for stealth and agility, his physical strength not as obvious as Sephiroth's was. Slim fingers pushed harder and higher as Sephiroth's left hand deftly unbuttoned Vincent's shirt. Beneath his fingertips, the dark-haired man's heartbeat picked up just slightly. Sephiroth's luminescent eyes roamed the figure lying below him, appreciating the soft curve of Vincent's jaw, his midnight hair curled against his elegant neck, and the way the quiet glow of his crimson eyes made his lashes cast shadows on his eyelids. Sephiroth's eyes were drawn to the paths his hands were tracing over Vincent's chest and abdomen. His light touches went from sensual to simply curious as they flitted over unmarred skin.
Recently Sephiroth had begun to wondered. Other than the large scar near his chest, Vincent's body had no blemishes. He pressed his lips to Vincent's ear once more. "You're oddly scar-less for an ex-Turk."
Vincent's right hand, which had been stationary since Sephiroth had awaken, tightened around the fine strands of the other man's hair and tugged. Sephiroth lifted his head and leaned back so he could see Vincent's face. The dark-haired man let the silver hair slide through his open fingers and his hand traced the side of Sephiroth's face. The sharp angle of his jaw, the smooth line of his brow. Brilliant, green eyes and his impressively long, moonlight hair. Sephiroth was an undeniably gorgeous man. Vincent narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
Sephiroth cursed Vincent for being so hard to read. The man's face was blank and his eyes told Sephiroth nothing. Though with the short distance between them he noticed for the first time Vincent's eyes were a spectrum of warm colors. Around the pupil they were a honeyed red-orange and at the outer edges of the iris, a shade darker than that of wet blood. Sephiroth arched his eyebrows curiously when Vincent broke eye contact and looked away.
"I once tripped and fell on the root of a tree." Vincent's voice was just above a whisper, but rang clear through the quiet room. "It earned me a large gash just below my knee and a lot of pain. I cried so hard I couldn't even bring myself to get up and my mother had to carry me home." He paused, but did not look at Sephiroth. "That was when I was seven and is one of the few memories I have of my mother."
Sephiroth was not sure what to make of Vincent's response so he remained silent.
Vincent did not need to turn to know Sephiroth was watching him intently. "I was young and ignorant when I received my first mission as a Turk. Though I had trained and trained, the thought of killing a another person scared me and when I had cornered my target, I hesitated. He took the chance to attack and cut me straight across the chest. Had he gone a little deeper I would have died. That day I learned that there was no room for uncertainty on the battlefield.
"Over the years I accumulated many scars, many of which had come from my time as a Turk. They were made by mistakes I had made, enemies who had been especially difficult to defeat. Every scar had a lesson learned behind it or a significant memory." His bloody gaze met Sephiroth's green.
"Had?" Sephiroth inquired softly.
Pale lips twisted into a bitter smile. "My regenerative abilities are quite remarkable, aren't they? When I had woken from death, there had been an enormous cavity in my chest where Hojo had shot and killed me." Vincent's hand dropped from Sephiroth's face to touch the horrible scar above his heart. Muscle and skin had grown over the hole, and though the scar tissue was a touch darker than the rest of his skin, it was smooth and unbroken. "Now there is only this. When a wound is formed, the very DNA of the cells around it is damaged. That damage manifests itself as scar tissue. After Hojo gifted me with this extraordinary self-healing, my scars faded. Cells that had been damaged for decades repaired and restored."
Cold fury flickered in Vincent's eyes, but faded in the next instant. "The only scar that remained was this." His fingers curled against his chest. "Perhaps because it had been the wound that felled me; even my abilities could not completely heal something tainted with death. Hojo had given me something of a cruel rebirth. All my scars wiped from my body, as if to negate the memories and lessons that had come with them. When I had first discovered their loss I had panicked. I began to doubt my own mind, not able to discern truth from madness. The only thing I was certain of was this terrible mark he had bestowed upon me. The pain it had brought and the torture I suffered for years after. The good of my past life became pieces of a distant dream." Vincent's voice trailed off and his words hung heavy in the silence of the room.
Sephiroth remained quiet as Vincent finished, his eyes watching Vincent's impassive face pensively. He was not sure he understood why Vincent felt such sadness over the loss of his scars. Sephiroth had scars too, granted they were few, but his regenerative abilities were not quite up to Vincent's level though his body was tougher in compensation. His own scars reminded him only of unpleasantness. The tiny pinpricks on the insides of both his elbows from the numerous injections endured in the labs; battle scars brought forth by his own moments of weakness and stupidity.
His jade eyes trailed down Vincent's body to his left arm. The shining gauntlet had been another present Hojo had given Vincent. Long fingers slipped into the man's sleeve and traveled up the length of the limb. He hooked his fingers around the metal edge of the claw and pulled it down and off the arm slowly. Sephiroth tossed it to the side with his left as his right pushed the sleeve up so he could see the usually hidden arm. He arched an elegant, silver eyebrow at the limb.
"You keep it hidden so often I was expecting a mutated arm with talons for nails or a tentacle or something," Sephiroth said smoothly. He stroked the flesh of the uncovered arm as pale and smooth as the rest of Vincent's body. There were small, red indentations in the skin from bumps on the gauntlet's interior, but Sephiroth knew those would fade within an hour. The only other abnormality he could see was the five-digit specimen number printed across the pallid forearm. Sephiroth had something similar on his own left arm, in addition to the "00" tattoo on his hand that marked him as the primary subject of the Jenova project. "Why?" Sehiroth asked the man beneath him. He found it rather contrary that Vincent would curse the scar Hojo had given him, but at the same time wear the claw so willingly.
"In ancient texts, mythological monsters often had claws of bronze and gold. I thought it was fitting." Vincent smiled at Sephiroth's scoff then schooled his expression into that of seriousness once again. "Early in the experimentation process, when I had first joined with my voices, my moods had been volatile. Their emotions influenced my own just as much as mine influenced theirs and I was prone to frequent partial transformations. For whatever reason, when left uncovered, my left arm was sensitive to my instability and the partial transformations manifested themselves in my arm most often. Sometimes I would grow claws or fur, it varied depending on who was trying to break free. I'm sure Hojo thought he was being quite witty when he gave me a clawed gauntlet to wear always." He watched the top of Sephiroth's pale head quietly. "It does not happen anymore. We have known each other for many years now, I suppose it can be said we have come to an understanding of sorts."
"Then why wear it?" There was a few moments' silence in response and Sephiroth knew Vincent would not answer; not that it mattered. He had a hunch Vincent wore the claw as a reflection of his own self-loathing and ever low self-esteem. It was strange the dark-haired man could radiate such quiet confidence when he was so uncertain in his mind.
The ex-general caressed the other's exposed left arm and felt distinct satisfaction at the sharp intake of breath he received. Perhaps it was a good thing Vincent liked to keep his arm gauntleted so often. Uncovered it was horribly sensitive to Sephiroth's light touches. Vincent's expression revealed almost nothing, however. Only his minutely parted lips gave any indication of what was running through his mind. The pale-haired man became mildly irritated. It had pleased Sephiroth when Vincent had spoken to him about his past, but the older man had already returned to his usual, dispassionate self. Granted, Sephiroth was often similarly distant, but seeing Vincent act in such a fashion made him curiously unhappy.
"You used to be able to smile so easily," Sephiroth said in his low, smooth voice. Even in the gloom of the Manor's lab, Vincent had always managed to spare Sephiroth a smile. Now Vincent's expressions of any emotion were rare. Sephiroth narrowed his eyes at the man, but Vincent was oblivious, his own eyes trained on the featureless ceiling.
Already today Vincent had told Sephiroth so much, revealed to another person the private thoughts that haunted his mind. How many people really knew him? Vincent wondered. Even the friends he had made in AVALANCHE knew barely more than his name. Friends and family Vincent had known in his old life were dead and gone; Vincent himself sometimes felt like an ancient relic from a forgotten age. His red eyes slipped closed. Suddenly he felt forlorn and weary.
"A cold mask was an important part of being a Turk. It had been hard to maintain in my earlier years, but it became quite natural over time." Sephiroth was a touch surprised Vincent had bothered to answer. The green-eyed male tilted his head to the side then nodded slowly. Much of his personality had been molded to fit his job as well. "It was useful against Hojo who seemed to take pleasure in the pain of others. I was quite satisfied when he could not get the same pleasure from me." Vincent's lips quirked upward. "Also, my transformations were often triggered by my various moods. Keeping my emotions in check meant fewer painful metamorphoses." He paused thoughtfully. "I've used this mask so frequently for so long, maybe this impassiveness has become permanent." Bitterness tainted his quiet voice.
Sephiroth snorted derisively. His left hand left its resting place on the bed to dip below the hem of Vincent's black boxers and grip the pale man's hip with crushing strength. He pressed his body forward, pushing Vincent into the mattress, grinning wickedly when he felt Vincent's hands grip his shoulders in surprise. Sephiroth ran his hot tongue up the length of Vincent's smooth column of a neck and nipped the skin just below Vincent's ear with a sharp canine. The ex-Turk tried valiantly to hide the sharp gasp, but Sephiroth's keen ears caught it anyway. The taller man rolled his hips forward and ground against Vincent just right. Even Vincent could not stop the the breathy moan that left his lips.
Sephiroth smirked into the other's neck and whispered in a rumbling growl "Was that a challenge, Mr. Valentine?"
