A/N: Just an explanation of Lazard's and Reeve's relationship. I was talking to AbsentmindedDreamer, and like she said, you don't really know much about Lazard. And I like him, so, that's where this chapter come in. There will be one more, before the proverbial shit hits the fan. Enjoy!

A/N 2: Ok, I know I reloaded it, but a few errors were pointed out to me. *bows to Evy* Thank you luv. :D

Theme: Forever Yours - Sunrise Avenue

Summary: Lazard reflects on what brought him to the other side.


November 26th

6 o'clock that night, Midgar

The President glanced over the people in the boardroom, a small smile on his face even as the inside of his mind roared in rage. They would pay for what they had done to his son, oh yes, they would pay.

"Is everything ready?" he asked quietly, and Scarlett nodded.

"Yes Sir, we have everything prepared. All we're waiting for is your approval, and the planes will be in the air."

He nodded and stood, placing his hands flat on the table as he pinned each person with a hard stare.

"Consider my permission granted," he rumbled, then walked out of the conference room. He wondered how the errant 1st's would take to what he had planned. He smiled slightly, as he stopped to look out the window and to Midgar, taking in the steel and glass city, permanently covered in smog from pollution. He had one more thing to do though, and that was swallow his pride, and contact his remaining, bastard heir.

He didn't realize that when his plans went through, the retaliation from the other continent would be brutal, and swift. His city of glass and steel would be no more.

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On the Western Continent, two hours earlier, Nibelheim...

"So what made you join us, Lazard?"

Lazard, the ex-Director of SOLDIER, almost spit out the water he was drinking, glaring over his shoulder at Vincent as he swallowed painfully. He hated it when the man decided to sneak up on someone, mainly because he was so damn good at it.

"Ask Reeve, he knows," he retorted testily, before removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes wearily.

"I'm not asking Reeve, I'm asking you," Vincent said, sitting next to him and handing him a cup of the special coffee that Tseng loved. Even as the sweet, spicy smell his mouth watered as his eyes zoomed in on the steaming cup.

"Is that chicory coffee?" he asked, trying not to sound to greedy. Vincent nodded, and handed it to him, amusement dancing in his eyes when Lazard grabbed it, and took one long, heavenly drink.

Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and merely savored the unique flavor as it rolled across his tongue. One of the things he had missed from ShinRa was Tseng bringing him a cup of this coffee in the mornings, without fail.

"Are you going to answer?" Vincent asked mildly, and Lazard opened his eyes, watching the gunman over the rim of the cup as he thought of how to answer. It had been four days since the President had received the video, and while they knew that ShinRa's military were gathering, there had been no reports to be worried about. They had gone to every city, explaining to the Mayors or Councilor's what was going on, and what to be prepared for. Since they didn't quite know what to be preparing for, the meetings had been brief.

He sighed when his musings were cut short by Vincent shifting in his chair, and he focused his pale blue eyes back on the man. Vincent was watching him steadily, one leg crossed over the other, leaning against the console where Lazard had been working.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked slowly, taking another drink, and watching as Vincent smiled, before shrugging. Lazard didn't stop his eyes from roaming over the tight black sweater, where it clung so enticingly to his muscled form. Reeve would kill him if he ever saw him looking at another man like that, but Reeve wasn't there, so he looked his fill.

Long ebony hair, that shined in the light, pale white skin, and startlingly ruby eyes, Vincent looked like the epitome of sin. He had a body that moved sensuously no matter what he was doing, and red lips that just begged to be kissed. His hands were usually covered by black leather gloves, but that couldn't hide the fact that he had pianist's hands, long and slender. Today he wore all black, as usual, with slightly baggy jeans to match the sweater. However, he had Cerberus strapped to his right thigh, and his golden gauntlet on, things that he didn't usually wear. Granted, they were all tense, and everyone had taken to wearing their weapons openly in the past few days, but it was distracting seeing the weapons glittering against all that black. The only one that was more startling was Cloud, now wearing almost the same outfit as Vincent, but with his huge puzzle sword on his back, and twin Beretta's at each hip.

"Lazard," Vincent said, and the man cursed himself silently for letting his mind wander again. He set down his coffee, and leaned back in the chair, letting his eyes wander to the ceiling of the old mako reactor in Nibelheim.

"You want to know why I came to this side?" he asked, noticing Vincent's slight nod even though he wasn't looking at him. "You never told me why." Now it was Vincent's turn to sigh, though his was amused and a little exasperated.

"Everyone has their own story," he said, laughter like a warm wind on the edges of his voice. Lazard found himself smiling at the sound. "Reeve came to make life better for the Planet, the 1st's and myself followed Cloud, because we believe in his vision of a world without ShinRa. The Turks came because they were sick of their job." Lazard snorted at that, as his eyes went slightly hazy.

"Sick of their job," he mused, snorting quietly as he picked up his coffee. "Yes, that sums it up quite nicely."

"So you were tired of your job," Vincent said slowly, wondering why he was so interested. He knew everyone else's story, but the man in front of him. Lazard had been an enigma since he had joined, bringing the late Rufus with him. He was curious.

"Mmm..." Lazard responded, looking around the empty room. He had sent everyone home, including Reeve. That man had been putting in excessive time, and he needed to sleep. And eat. "It's never fun receiving orders from the President to send men out on a mission, knowing that little to none of them will be coming back." Vincent remained silent, as Lazard began to speak, his voice taking on the edge of someone remembering bitter memories.

"I left because I couldn't stand to look into another face of the families of the men who died, and lie to them that their sacrifice would be remembered. I've lost count how many times I've given orders to men, sending them to their deaths. I don't want to have to see the look in their eyes when they realize exactly what their being sent out to do, and the understanding when they see that I had no choice. That's why I always sent out one of the 1st's with them, or at least I tried to." He laughed, and it was a bitter sound. "I also got tired of trying to prove myself to my father."

Vincent raised an eyebrow at that, suddenly realizing why Lazard look familiar. He looked like the President and Rufus, though he was...softer. Not the hard angles that the other two had. Lazard laughed quietly at the sudden realization dawning on his face, and finished his coffee, setting it down and slipping his glasses back on.

"Yes Vincent, the President is my father. My mother was his secretary for a few years, before she got pregnant with me. He paid her handsomely, and when I reached sixteen, he offered me a place in the company."

Frowning, Vincent looked him over more carefully.

"How old are you, Lazard?" he asked. The faded blue eyes regarded him, and a brief flash of mako shone in their depths.

"Older then I look, I'm sure," he said with a smile, and Vincent started laughing, and he didn't even know why.

"When have you had mako treatments?" he asked, and Lazard returned the smile, though it was a little more secret.

"When I became Director. I believed it was my duty to understand my SOLDIER's, so I began to receive the mako in an effort to understand what they went through. According to Eve, I have received enough mako for a 1st Class. Somewhere along the way though, I learned how to keep the glow from my eyes." He shrugged, and looked forlornly at the coffee cup. "I was often told by the General's that it was the glow from the mako in their eyes which made many people nervous around them. Since I dealt with the public and dignitaries so often, I needed to keep up my harmless appearance."

"Your not harmless," Vincent said quietly, and Lazard looked at him, a slow, small smile spreading across his lips.

"No," he said quietly. "I'm not harmless."

Smirking, Vincent relaxed into his chair farther. He had seen Lazard sparring in hand to hand with Tseng and Reno, and the Director was surprisingly swift and strong. He actually reminded Vincent of Cloud, using his innocent appearance to lull people into thinking that he was defenseless. He knew personally that the man carried a blade down the back of his perfectly tailored suit coat, that went the entire length of his spine. It was actually a wicked blade, serrated on one side, and razor sharp on the other. He also had twin daggers strapped to his thighs, so he could place his hands in his pockets, and when he withdrew them, he would have them both. No, Lazard Deusericus was not harmless. He grinned. He liked that.

They both looked up when the door to the room opened, and Lazard frowned, standing and going over to the haggard man who walked in.

"Reeve, what are you doing up? You need sleep," he chided, even as he took the engineers arm, and led him over to the chair. With a snort, Reeve sat down, and then pulled Lazard onto his lap. With a frown, Lazard combed his fingers through the dark brown hair as he shifted to make them both more comfortable.

"Can't sleep," the man mumbled, puffy brown eyes closing as he leaned into the caress.

"Reeve, you need to sleep," Vincent joined in, earning a thankful look from Lazard. Even he could tell that Reeve was near collapse. He was thin, though not like Cloud and Zack had been, and the circles under his eyes looked like bruises.

"Can't sleep," Reeve repeated. "I have a bad feeling." Lazard and Vincent exchanged a look, before looking back to the listing engineer.

"Bad feeling about what sweetheart?" Lazard asked quietly. They had learned not to put aside Reeve's feelings. He had one before Gongaga, and also before they were attacked. If Reeve hadn't awoken, saying that he thought something was wrong, they never would have been able to take that man alive. They wouldn't have been alive.

"Dunno. Something's going to happen though," the man mumbled against Lazard's chest, tightening his arms around the slender waist as he fell asleep against his own will. Lazard continued to frown as he carefully ran his fingers through the thick hair, only looking up when Vincent stood.

"I'm going to call Cloud and the rest. The need to know about this," he said, leaving when Lazard nodded. He looked back down at the man in his arms, and sighed. The main reason he had left, and what he hadn't told Vincent, was Reeve had left, and where Reeve went, so did he.

He could still remember the first time Reeve had ever kissed him, the night the man had saved his life, and gave him a reason to keep living.

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Lazard stood at the window in his office, staring out into the darkness, with a pistol gripped in his hand. He was only eighteen, having been shoved into the Director's chair when he was sixteen, all because of who his father was. It was only now, after two years, that everyone was learning that he knew how to do his job, and did it well. He had a good, analytical mind, that was perfect to bounce ideas off the three young General's on military tactics. He had a sweet disposition, with an equally sweet face and body, that got him far within the political hell hole that was this Company. He had earned the respect of the General's and the Commander of the Army, as well as the Turks, which was a very important thing, considering they got their orders from him. Yet here he was, making more money then he had ever dreamed off, with a job people would be willing to kill for, and he had a gun in his hand, prepared to take his own life. Why? He hated it. He hated everything.

He had walked into his new life with the high hopes and ideals of the young and naive, thinking that he would be able to change their Planet for the better, to use his new position to force his father to recognize him. Nothing had turned out like he had hoped, his youthful dreams dashed against the rocks of reality.

His father didn't care about him, and would probably fire him or have him killed if he thought that Lazard wasn't living up to his expectations. He handed out orders to men who had served in the Military their entire lives, orders that would send those men to their deaths, even as Lazard tried his damndest to figure out a way to spare their lives.

He tried as hard as he could to get one of the 1st's to go with them whenever one of those particular missions came up, but not always. Whenever they went on their own, he got the distinct pleasure of contacting the families, explaining to them how ShinRa was so very sorry for their loss, and yes, they would be properly compensated. He hated hearing their tearful thank yous, because every single one ripped something apart inside him. Why should they be thanking him? Why wouldn't they curse at him, scream at him for sending their family member to their deaths? Why?

He looked down at the gun in his right hand, and took a shaky sip of the Wutainian Rum in the other. He was calm, surprisingly enough. He knew he had willpower, a strong spirit that made him last through his mothers sickness, that she was now only getting help for, since he had started to work for ShinRa. The same spirit had seen him through these last hellish two years, but it had been slowly eroding away.

Turning from the window, he sat down at his desk, hearing nothing through the rest of the building. It was almost midnight, and even the cleaning crew had gone home by now. It was the perfect time. The lights in his office were low, a single desk lamp the only illumination. He sat the gun on the desk as he took his seat, feeling a hundred years old, and not eighteen. There was nothing wrong with his body, the mako treatments he had gotten made sure of that, but his mind was a different story. Closing his eyes he tipped his chair back, and sipped the spicy liquid slowly, savoring the burn as it went down his throat.

He would never forget the look in Sephiroth's eyes, almost a year ago now, after he came back to report on the first, bloody battle with Wutai. His jade eyes had been dark and haunted with what he had seen, with what he had been forced to do, even as his voice was clinical and clipped, while giving the report. He had listened with dawning horror and no expression on his face as the man, only two years younger then him, as he had described the massacre that ShinRa was now calling 'a great victory'. Yes, it had been a great victory, but every victory came with a price. The price of that was teenagers, himself included in that, loosing whatever remained of their youth. Nothing stripped your innocence like the harsh realities of war.

He opened his eyes as the door opened, watching as Reeve, the new Head of Urban Development walked in. They had become close friends in a short time, not surprising, really, since Reeve was only nineteen. Reeve however, had been spared having to hear the gory details of the war, only getting brief snippets of it while in meetings. He still carried the optimism, that underneath it all, everyone was still a good person. Lazard believed that as well, but he was cynical enough to know that for some people, there was no good left.

"What can I do for you, Tuesti?" he asked calmly, taking another sip of rum while the man walked farther into the room. His eyes flashed to the gun, narrowing as Lazard only smiled slightly, showing nothing as Reeve sent him an accusing look.

"I saw your light on, and I was wondering why you were here so late," he said stiffly, eyes returning to the gun, before going back to Lazard's face. "What are you planning on doing?"

"Ah...that's the question, isn't it?" Lazard commented dryly, voice lightly amused. He sat the glass down on the desk and refilled it, as he continued to speak. "I was either going to shoot, or poison myself. I can't really decide which way I want to go."

Reeve sat down heavily in the chair across from the desk, his eyes wide and face pale. "But...why?" Lazard only shrugged, and took a healthy swallow. Because of the mako he'd gotten in the past two years couldn't get drunk unless he consumed mass amounts, but it still tasted good.

"Why not?" he countered, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass, giving it all his attention because he didn't want to see whatever look was on Reeve's face.

"You have a good job," Reeve said hotly, and Lazard did finally look at him. The man was afire with anger, and something else. Panic? He watched as Reeve stood, gesturing as he frowned. "You have the respect of everyone in the company, including the Generals, and that's something, trust me. Why would you just throw it all away?"

Lazard's voice was quiet and far away as he spoke. "I don't want anymore nightmares. I no longer want to awake in the night, crying, because I can't get the images of what is being done in Wutai out of my mind. This job isn't worth slowly loosing my sanity."

"Then leave!" Reeve burst out, leaning on the desk and pinning Lazard to his chair with a harsh glare. "If you hate it so much, then just leave! Don't kill yourself over it!" He smiled sadly, and went back to looking into the depths of his glass.

"If I leave, my mother will no longer get the help that she needs. If I die while I still sit on the chair, then ShinRa will have no choice but to continue her treatments, and give her money after I'm gone." He jumped when Reeve slapped the desk, glaring up at the older man.

"That's not good enough," he growled, his perfectly brown eyes flashing with his belief in his words. Lazard only smiled again, feeling very old, and very jaded in the face of the impassioned speech. "You think that your mother is sick now. What do you think will happen to her when they tell her that her only son has killed himself?"

Lazard looked away then, as pain twisted his heart. He said nothing for so long that Reeve let out a growl of pure pain, and it was Lazard's turn to growl when the man grabbed his perfectly tailored shirt, lifting him out of the chair, and shaking him. Something in the back of his mind was utterly surprised at the normally level headed man loosing it like this, and he didn't understand why.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" he snarled, and Lazard reeled when he met those dark eyes. There was pain, anger, fear panic and...caring? Reeve cared for him? "Have you even thought about what it would do to the rest of us? To the General's, now that they've put their trust in you. To the men of the Army, who trust you to find some way of getting them back alive? Have you thought past your own fucking selfish thoughts?!" Lazard opened his mouth to reply, but Reeve shoved him back down into his chair, hard enough that it rolled a few feet back, almost touching the windows. He watched, perplexed, as Reeve shoved his hands into his hair, taking a few, shaking breaths.

After a few silent moments, Reeve turned back to him, and he felt stripped to the bone by the penetrating brown gaze. As though, for those few seconds, every thought, every fear was laid bare for the man to see, and on one hand, it scared him to death to be that exposed, but it also healed something to realize that there was someone who understood, and didn't turn away. His throat threatened to close as resignation and pain chased away every other emotion in the understanding eyes looking at him.

"You are the only person in this Company that I call a friend, Lazard." His eyes teared, and Lazard watched, speechless, as Reeve visibly collected himself, hiding his true feelings behind the emotionless mask. Lazard wanted to cry out, to reach out to him, to tell him that he didn't need to hide. He never had before, and seeing those cool eyes looking at him, hurt worse then anything else. Reeve had never hid from him before, and it was the mans joyous, bubbly nature that had drawn him in. It had made Lazard realize that he loved Reeve, more then just friends, though he wound never jeopardize their friendship in any way. He wanted to scream all this at the man, but only sat there, frozen.

"If you want to kill yourself, that's fine. I won't stop you, if it's something that you really want to do, and if that is the only escape that you can see, so be it. I just want you to know what you're leaving behind." Then he swiftly walked back over to Lazard, and pressed their lips together. His eyes fluttered shut as his heart started galloping in his chest, at the soft lips pressed to his, and he gasped softly in denial when Reeve stepped back.

"I love you, Lazard Deusericus, and if this is the last time I see you alive, I want you to know that." As Lazard sat in his chair, something like hope blossoming in his chest, Reeve straightened, and walked swiftly out of the room.

"Wait," he whispered into the empty room, before his body caught up with his brain, and he leapt out of the chair, racing out of the room. He looked wildly from right to left, hearing the ding of the elevator around the corner. He flew down the hallway, and turned the corner just as he saw Reeve stepping into the metal box. His heart in his throat, he threw himself down, sticking a hand between the closing doors a moment before they would have shut. They slowly opened, and Reeve was standing there, watching him with guarded eyes as he leaned against the far wall. Taking a deep breath, Lazard walked into the elevator with purposeful strides, plunging his hands into the chocolate brown hair and bringing their lips together for a searing kiss.

A sound came out of Reeve that sounded suspiciously like a sob, before the strong arms encircled him, drawing their bodies close together. It was a long minute before they were forced to part, or suffer from oxygen deprivation. Reeve looked at him, eyes darker with desire, and a painful hope, as though he wouldn't allow himself to believe that this was really happening.

"You were really going to leave," Lazard said breathlessly, no accusation in his voice, but Reeve winced anyway.

"I...I'm sorry," he replied quietly, turning his face away to look down. "I couldn't be around if you were going to do something like that. I just couldn't." Lazard thought about that a moment, before moving his hands and cupping the mans face gently, forcing it up so he could meet the swimming eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me how you felt before?" he asked curiously, and blinked when the dark haired man had the grace to blush.

"I thought you were straight," he murmured, surprising laughter out of the blonde man. It surprised them both, because it had been a long time since Lazard had laughed so freely, without the sound seeming like it had been forced. Lazard grew solemn then, slowly caressing the ruggedly handsome face under his hands with his thumbs, feeling the stubbly growth of a beard. He studied the young, yet mature face before him, and a smile slowly began to form on his face, as he realized his heart didn't feel quite as burdened as it had. He had always felt like he had been alone in the world, and to finally find out that he wasn't, had shifted him away from the cliff he was going to jump over. A thought passed through his brain, and although it was ridiculously cheesy, he decided to say it anyway.

"Thank you," Lazard whispered, making Reeve raise an eyebrow.

"For?" he asked, his hands tightening involuntarily on the slender hips under them. Lazard grinned, and brought their lips together, breathing his next words against the ones he loved.

"For giving me a reason to live."

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Lazard looked up, drawn from his memory as Vincent walked back into the room. Reeve roused himself from his dozing at the sound of the door closing, and Vincent took the seat that he had vacated only minutes before.

"It seems Reeve isn't the only one who is having these feelings," he said, causing Reeve to attempt to sit up straighter, as Lazard frowned.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice more sharp then he wanted to to be. Vincent gave him a patient look, and a small smile.

"Cloud and Sephiroth have also been feeling uneasy. The two of them are currently at a party Godo is throwing, to celebrate the 400th year of Wutai becoming their own country." Reeve snorted quietly at that, and even Lazard smiled. Everyone knew how much the two of them hated dressing up and going to parties. Though, the last one that was thrown when Cloud became a 1st had been memorable. The first, and last time any of them had ever seen the General bend to someone elses will.

"What did they..." Lazard trailed off as his phone started vibrating in his pocket, and he pulled it out, flipping it open without looking at who was calling. He just assumed that it was Cloud, or one of the others.

"Yes?" he answered, on the verge of teasing either Cloud or Sephiroth about their spiffy clothes, when his blood froze in his veins at the next words.

"Son," The President said icily, and both Reeve and Vincent looked at him in concern when he stiffened.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice calm and without inflection, though inside he was reeling.

"I order you to come back to Midgar, and take your place as my heir," the old man said loftily, and Lazard gaped, his eyes widening. His mouth opened and closed as the world around him went hazy. Every dream, every hope that he ever had as a teenager were in those few words, and his heart started beating heavily in his chest, and suddenly he found it hard to breath. Yes, Cloud and Zack had killed Rufus, but he never thought that the old man would call him, to come take his place as Vice President, and Heir to the company.

"Well, when can I expect you back?" the old man said, and Lazard was snapped out of his hopeful haze, at the disgust and unwillingness that the man wasn't even trying to hide. He closed his jaw, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as his world came back into focus.

"No," he said steadily, surprising himself with the calm, determined voice that came out of him.

"No?" the President said in shock, and Lazard allowed himself a small smile, as he relaxed more fully against Reeve.

"Yes, you heard me right. Why would I want to come back to a Company that is so flawed and corrupt, that when the General's left, nearly everyone important went with them? Why would I come back just because you asked, when you have never been anything to me? When you have done nothing for me?"

"You're my son! I order you-" Lazard scoffed, cutting his words off with the condescending sound.

"You are not my father. Leaving behind a bit of DNA does not make you my father, nor does it make me your son. Your only son was ripped to pieces. I would reconsider this war if I were you, before the same thing happens to you. If not worse." The other side of the phone was silent, except for harsh, angry breathing.

"Is that a threat?" the old man said quietly. Lazard only smiled, and he knew it wasn't a nice one.

"Think of it as a promise, not a threat. My answer is no, and will continue to be no." He hung up the phone, and stared at it for a long moment. He must have been staring longer then he thought, because Reeve gently took it out of his hand, and set it on the desk next to the keyboard.

He allowed his head to be turned by cold metal on his cheek, and he found himself staring into crimson eyes, that were looking at him with concern.

"That was the President," Vincent stated, and Lazard nodded. What he had just done, and said, suddenly struck him, and he slowly started smiling. Vincent blinked in surprise and sat back, as a beautiful, wide smile stole over the mans face.

"I...I just told my father to go fuck off," he said, his voice strangled. The other two blinked in shock when the strangled sound turned out to be bright laughter, and they found themselves chuckling along with him.

Lazard felt more free then he had, since the moment that he had gotten off that place, to meet Sephiroth and Genesis. He had finally told the man how he really felt, and it had felt damn good.

He squeaked and automatically put his arms around Reeve's shoulders as the man stood with him in his arms.

"I want sleep, and you're coming with me," the dark haired man demanded, and Lazard licked his lips at the sudden desire that overcame him at the passionate look in those brown eyes.

"Ok," was all he managed, before Reeve turned to the door, throwing a sorry over his shoulder to Vincent, which only made Lazard laugh darkly with anticipation.

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Vincent shook his head as they exited, but the smile on his face fell away when he looked at Lazard's phone, which both men had forgotten. Something gnawed at him, as he continued to stare at the innocent piece of machinery. Why now, after all this time, would the President want Lazard back? Yes, Rufus was dead, but...

It didn't make sense. The President had always hated Lazard, something according to the rest he had made abundantly clear in the board meetings. So why now? What was the man planning, that he wanted to get his only blood relative away from this continent?

He sighed as his phone went off, and flipped it open, eyes wide at the picture message that Sephiroth had sent him.

Cloud was standing outside the ballroom where the party was being held, out on a balcony, not looking Sephiroth's way. His eyes were mere glowing slits, as he stared into the evening sun, his hands resting lightly on the railing, with a small smile on his face.

He was wearing all white, and while Vincent had known of the color choice, seeing it actually on Cloud took his breath away. It took him a moment of studying to realize that the color wasn't pure white, but ivory, and it made his sun kissed golden skin seem to glow with a life of its own.

The outfit was perfectly tailored to fit his lean, muscled body, showing off his narrow waist even as it emphasized his shoulders, and the strong column of his neck. He didn't have on a jacket, and Vincent could see that the vest over the shirt was laced in back, resembling the corsets that women often wore. The shirt had full sleeves, that were tight on his wrists, held in place by three sapphire jewels, set in a pale gold. The pants were a little fuller then usual dress pants, and Vincent smirked as he saw the white boots that completed the outfit.

Frowning, he tried enlarging the picture as he noticed something sparkling around Cloud's neck and in his ear, but he couldn't make out what it was. Growling in resignation, he text Sephiroth back with a request for a picture of the blonde's front. A few moment after he sent it, his request was answered, and if the last picture hadn't stopped his breath, this one surely did.

He was now facing the camera, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops above his pockets, a sensual smirk on his face, and his eyes hooded with an unmistakable passion shining through them. What he had seen sparkling, was a thin band of ivory velvet around his throat, with a pure blue star sapphire the size of an egg nestled in the hollow of his throat, a thin band of pale gold around it as an anchor. In his left ear, was a stylized wolf's head, with tiny glittering sapphires for eyes, and a ring of the same design on his right hand. The vest was buttoned together with the same blue stones, and it was then that Vincent noticed the cloak that was resting on the railing next to him.

It was white velvet, with an edging of some sort of golden fur, but the inside of it was a bright, startlingly electric blue, nearly the same color as his eyes. Heat rushed through his body as his mind put the entire outfit together, and he growled low in his throat as he dialed Sephiroth's number.

"Hello?" the amused voice said on the other line, then laughed darkly when Vincent increased the sound of his growl.

"When are you going to be back to the house?" he asked, not bothering to hide the lust that was making his voice tremble. The laugh from Cloud he heard in the background went straight to his groin, and he shifted to relieve some of the pressure.

"Not until later. We have to stay until the end. Why?" Vincent's growl turned into a purr as he stood, and swiftly started collecting his things.

"Because you're both mine when you get there," he stated, already out of the reactor and into the cold, evening night. Sephiroth laughed, the sound a caress on his sensitized nerves even through the phone. He shivered, and it wasn't because of the cold.

"Is that so?" the man on the other line asked, his voice amused and throbbing with desire. Vincent bit back a groan as he called on the demon inside, changing into the form of Chaos. His voice was rough and gravelly when he spoke next.

"Oh yes. I promise you, when I'm done with you both, you'll be screaming my name." The voice on the other end caught, and then sighed heavily.

"I'll be holding you to that promise," Sephiroth said quietly, before hanging up. Smirking, Vincent tucked the phone in the bag he had brought, and spread his wings, taking off into the night, and angling for their house in Wutai. By his estimates, he would get there probably an hour or so before they would. He smiled toothily into the wind. It would be enough time to prepare. Barely.