Journey

/

AN: Epilogue to follow, and then that's it!

/

Cid was roused by the soft warmth of sunlight. His brow creased as he cracked open his bleary eyes, immediately squinting against the ray slipping past the curtains. He inhaled a deep, refreshing lungful of air and stretched his arms, feeling the muscles along his upper back pull taut. It felt good, if somewhat sore and stiff. For a minute he gazed sleepily up at the ceiling, slowly recollecting his memories, running through the events that had led him to this morning. It was the day after Meteor had been vanquished. Only a night between, and yet it was beginning to feel like a distant dream, a fantasy fabricated from the deep sleep he had just risen from.

Cid glanced around the inn room. His torn, stained clothes lay sprawled over the floor. No, definitely not a dream. Not even a bad day in his workshop could result in their current state. Even his weapon looked exhausted, propped against the chest of draws, covered in blood and things better left unknown. The digital clock on the nightstand announced it was well into the afternoon.

Muffled footsteps passed on the landing outside. Cid wondered if the rest of the team had woken. They had been so tired after their ordeal yesterday Cid had barely made it to Kalm. Actually, Berto had taken over before they set down. Cait assured them all that the authorities were doing everything they could for the distressed and injured people of Midgar; there would be nothing they could help with. After that Cid could only recall stumbling with the rest of them to an inn, and a little girl dashing past and flinging herself into Barret's arms. After that the memories blanked.

Sighing, Cid raised his hands and rubbed his face. By the feel of his spine he had slept in the same position all night, something he was prone to do when he was dead to the world. At least they had all booked separate rooms, splurging on luxury, because why the hell shouldn't they? The only downside was that Vincent wasn't in Cid's room. By his side. In his bed.

Lowering his hands he let them fall into the soft pillow either side of his face. He had dreamed about Vincent last night, but couldn't remember for the life of him what had happened. He just recalled those blood-colored eyes watching him from a very close distance, and the recurring twinge in his chest that occurred whenever he so much as thought of Vincent. In fact, had the urge to find him been any less, Cid wouldn't have gotten out of bed and to the shower, intent on finding him. He felt the weight of blood, sweat and grime slide from his body as the water rinsed him clean, regretting the decision to fall straight into bed last night without washing. When he returned to the bedroom he saw how dirty he had made the sheets. Eh, they'll get cleaned.

What wouldn't get cleaned, however, were his clothes. There was no way in hell he was pulling on those filthy things. He did a quick search of the room, thankful to find a complimentary bathrobe, folded invitingly in the small wardrobe. He slid it on, reveling in the soft feel of cotton and, leaving his boots, his hair still wet, ventured out of his room.

The hallway outside led him past other doors and down a small set of stairs to the reception. The sounds of distant noise made it to his awareness, but he paid it no mind. A young woman stood up from behind the desk below the counter, smiling at him widely.

"I'm glad to see you're finally up and well rested," she greeted. He couldn't remember her face at all. "Your friends are out in the courtyard." She gestured to one of the doorways leading out.

Cid gave her a nod of thanks and squinted against the harsh, bright sunlight outside. His feet touched stonework as the fresh scent of flowers caught his nose. A wonderful, warm breeze caressed his skin, and as his eyes adjusted to the daylight he saw his team – his friends – sat around a large wooden table under a tree, smiling, laughing, all dressed in their bathrobes. The child was running around them, hands outstretched, laughter falling from her lips as she chased after Red. It was a surreal image, Cid hadn't expected it; they all looked so happy. For a wild moment he wondered if they'd all died yesterday and this was heaven. Tifa caught sight of him and waved. With a hand shielding his eyes Cid walked to them, greeted by a string of invigorated smiles. The noise, he realized, was a mass of cheering, talking and activity somewhere in the town.

"Cid, I'd like ya to meet my daughter," Barret beamed, catching her as she ran past and sitting her on his lap. "Marlene, this is Cid Highwind."

The little girl shyly waved at him. It seemed he was the last to be introduced to. No, not the last. Vincent wasn't there.

"Hey, kiddo," Cid replied, his voice croaky and dry. He didn't really know how to interact with children, it wasn't something he had any practice with.

"He's an airship pilot," Barret told her with the sort of enthusiasm delivered to kids for emphasis. "We went up in a big, big plane," he continued, exaggerating with his arms. "Up into the sky!"

She looked awestruck, craning up at him. "Woooow!"

Cid stared for a second. He had never actually pictured Barret as a daddy until now. The change in behavior threw him.

Giggling at his face, Tifa tugged his sleeve. "Sit down, breakfast – I mean dinner – will be out shortly." She watched him lower onto the circular bench. "We couldn't have asked for a better day after, could we?"

Reactively, he blinked up at the blue sky and wispy clouds. It was as though the planet was celebrating her survival with brilliant sunshine. But Cid didn't feel like celebrating. And he didn't know why.

The arrival of the food distracted his odd mood and he immediately grabbed a glass of water, downing it without a breath. The entire team was soon digging in to platters of scrambled egg, toast and bread, fruits, pastries and a couple of jugs of juice. It looked delicious, but even as Cid picked out a freshly baked bread bun he didn't feel hungry. He glanced around at them all, the team he had been traveling with for months, the faces he had come to know. These people had saved each other, had cheated death together. There was a bond no greater.

Cloud caught his eye from across the table, a small but noticeable smile curling the corner of his lips. The vibrancy of his eyes had returned to normal, but even so, Cid was momentarily captivated by their dazzling hue. The sunlight hit them and he was reminded of the crystal cave where that… woman, Lucrecia was. The expression Cloud gave him was of a relaxed, unwinding smile, something that had probably never crossed his face in a long time.

At that moment Cid noticed the woman standing beside Cloud, almost behind Barret, laughing at the little girl's antics as her father entertained her. She was older than them, but there was a youthful touch about her, and a shimmer of sadness deep in her eyes.

"This is Elmyra Gainsborough," Tifa caught him looking, a belated introduction.

At her name the woman looked up, and her eyes crinkled into a smile, nodding a greeting. Cid suddenly felt guilty for reasons he didn't know.

"It is good to meet you, Mr. Highwind," she said, stepping into view. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for what this team has accomplished…." She trailed off and her lips quivered just for a second. "Did you… get to meet my little girl?"

Cid's throat tightened. "Yeah," he said. "She was… a remarkable young woman. If not for her, none of us would be here."

Mrs. Gainsborough swallowed, nodding gratefully. She took a moment to compose herself. "Well, I've imposed long enough, I will leave you all for now." She reached over and stroked Marlene's hair. "I'll see you later, okay?" She told her kindly. "Make sure Daddy gets plenty of food and rest."

"I will!"

Mrs. Gainsborough bid her goodbyes to the team, and cast a long look around them all. It was painful for her, Cid could tell. She smiled at him before she disappeared inside. The team was silent after her departure until Marlene dropped back down to her feet.

"Daddy can we go see the festival?" She asked.

Cid's brain clicked. The cheering in the background was the town's inhabitants all congregating. They were celebrating.

"Sure, let's all check it out," Barret turned his brown eyes on the group. "We've got our own celebrating to do."

"Sure," Tifa smiled warmly.

Cid hesitated. He was still tired, a deep-seated fatigue that wouldn't leave for a few days at least; the sort of ache familiar to those who had been battered within an inch of their life. And the main reason he had gotten out of bed at all was to find Vincent.

As if reading his thoughts, Yuffie said, "Vincent hasn't been down yet. Do you think he will come with us if we ask?"

Ironically, everyone looked at Cid for an answer.

"Vince and crowds? Doubtful," he responded, as if they should have known.

"Who's Vincent?" Marlene asked.

"He came with us on our journey," Barret told her, fidgeting with his robe lapel. "He helped us save the world."

"He's a hero, too?" The little girl asked, awe in her eyes.

"Yeah," Barret replied with a smile.

"Um, we need clothes to go out, though," Yuffie announced, indicating the fact they were all sat in their borrowed bathrobes.

"I'll grab everyone something!" Cait exclaimed with too much vigor for Cid. "Assuming the stores are open."

"Vincent's in room 13." Tifa turned to Cid with a smile. She indicated a platter. "Take him some breakfast and try to convince him."

"Better yet, tell him to come down," Yuffie popped up behind Cid's shoulder.

"I don't work fuckin' miracles," he told her, loading bit of everything onto a platter. He quickly took his pinched load away from Tifa's knowing smirk and left the table, almost disappointed he wasn't staying to bask in their comfortable company. But the thought of seeing Vincent was much more enticing, and… he had to know the man hadn't left.

When he reached room 13 he hesitated, knuckles hovering before the wooden door. Was he in there? Would Vincent really leave without saying anything to Cid? Now that the crisis was over, what course of action would he take? Where would he go, what would he do?

Cid's hand was rapping on the door before he was aware of it, the sound ringing hollowly down the corridor. For a long, tense fit of silence he waited. It occurred to him that this scene was becoming familiar; Cid bringing food to Vincent's room, and he realized that he would miss it. Those times on the Highwind – oh Gods, his baby – when he knew where to find him, knew when he hadn't eaten or drunk, knew he could spend time alone with the gunman…

The door opened a crack, breaking Cid's thoughts and startling him, rattling the platter. Cid's eyes met Vincent's through the gap.

"Thought yer'd ran out on us," Cid grinned, trying to aim for a flippant jest, and finding it came out rather uncertain instead.

The door opened wider, revealing Vincent's form. Cid's eyes made a downward travel, soaking in the sight of the man in his own room's bathrobe. The contrast between that and his usual dark, bulky clothes was striking and so very stimulating. Vincent's eyes softened at Cid's arrival. He had stepped aside to let the pilot in, closing the door behind. Déjà vu. His leather was draped over the single chair in the room and his cape was hung on the door, wet and cleaned.

"I'm beginning to think you're aspiring to become a waiter." Vincent's deep voice was whispery and low, emitting a husky quality that traveled through Cid like treacle. "You're very good at bringing food."

"Hah-fuckin'-hah," Cid said, setting the platter down on the dresser. Before he knew it his hands were roaming across Vincent's body and he was pressing their mouths together, reveling in the touch of the man's lips, craving the feel of his shower-softened skin. He smelled of soap and shampoo, two scents that combined to drive Cid wild. He contained himself just barely as their tongues clashed, hot and sweet, but it was difficult; Vincent was swallowing his kisses eagerly. His hands had risen to cup Cid's head, threaded through his hair. He could feel the gentle scrape of the gauntlet's talons but it only increased the pleasure. He broke off into a string of quick kisses before regaining his senses and taking a breath. Their bodies were flush together, and through the bathrobe Cid could feel the contours of the gunman's body. A pang of arousal rose within him.

Whatever Cid was planning to say, or wanted to say, failed to make it past his lips. When Vincent pushed forward to reinitiate the kiss he couldn't have cared less for his lost words. The gunman pressed onto him almost deprived like, something that caught Cid's attention. He hadn't felt this persistence in Vincent before, not that it wasn't welcome, though. The feel of Vincent's teeth nibbling tenderly on his lip sent his mind into an incoherent mess. Cid shifted closer, and the abrupt clatter of the food tray broke through their hazy bubble. They'd bumped into the dresser.

"Oh yeah, I brought yer breakfast," Cid remembered, his voice low and thick. He could do with another drink himself, now.

Vincent eyed the food almost sullenly, as though its presence had disrupted their moment. He didn't look at all interested in it, and as Cid studied his face he began to suspect he had walked in on something. Vincent's advances had felt different.

"What is it?" Cid asked outright.

Vincent lingered a moment, reluctant to move, before he lowered his hands and stepped back, shaking his head dismissively. "Nothing." He reached for the platter even though it was clear he had no appetite.

Cid gripped his wrist lightly, stilling his hand. "Liar."

"Cid…"

"Vince."

Vincent's eyes lifted, and for a long minute he teetered on the decision to speak. Something must have clicked right, for he relented. "My sins have finally been laid to rest." He began, a heavy, weary surrender rising from his words. He lowered his hand from the dresser. "Since I was awakened, I've been followed by the nightmares of my own past. I've been chasing one of them. But now it's over. I fulfilled my vengeance, and I've corrected my failure. There's nothing holding me back… and I have no choice but to face the future." He stared Cid straight in the eye. "I'm a stranger to this world, but now I'm a stranger with no purpose."

"Vince, none of us have a purpose anymore," Cid began, and to his own surprise he sounded genuinely sympathetic. Not that he wasn't, he was just crap at that sort of thing. Had Vincent been contemplating this before he walked in? "We've all gotta find a new one."

Vincent's eyes took on a new depth. "I feel lost."

Something clutched Cid's heart painfully. To hear an admission like that from Vincent… He had been thinking about this before Cid walked in. Sinking into that dark, harrowing mind of his. No wonder he had seemed eager for the pilot's lips to chase away the pain; an opportune reprieve from the mental torment.

"But, I no longer want to fade away. I no longer want to disappear."

Cid frowned, but a spark in his head brought back a strong memory, of an argument on the quarter's deck of the Highwind. Vincent's words back then still echoed hauntingly.

"I don't think I can, anyway…"

Cid's lips parted and then closed. There was a sad, humorless smile at Vincent's eyes. From what they'd all witnessed, no… maybe Vincent couldn't die. If that had been all he wanted, it must have been a slap in the face to be denied.

"You were right, however," Vincent continued, watching the blond's face closely. "I have found something else worth living for."

His voice was stuck in his throat. He didn't know he could feel so responsive to a few simple words before, and then lifted by them in the very next second. He wet his lips, prepared to say something, but he was unable to find the right thing to express. Damnit, he didn't remember feeling like this with the women he'd been with. At least, not this strongly.

"What's that?" He asked croakily, already knowing the answer.

A light expression graced Vincent's face. "I think you know."

Cid pushed his luck. "Can I hear it?" He requested with a growing smile.

Vincent's eyes locked, and he leaned down, placing a slow, meaningful kiss on the pilot's lips. "You." He said against them.

Cid grinned and pressed their foreheads together, wet hairs merging. He sure had done something right during their time together. His earlier, neutral mood had lifted considerably, and the uneasiness he had woken with was ebbing away. But not completely.

A tentative knock came at the door. "Cid? Vincent?" Cait Sith's voice called through. When Cid opened it he was stood atop his mog with a handled bag in front of him. "Here're some clothes," the little cat held out the large bag. "While I was across the street I heard people talking. It seems word got out that we were involved in Sephiroth and Meteor's defeat, not a huge leap considering we arrived looking like we did. I think the mayor is on his way over."

Cid groaned and ran a hand over his hair. "I can't be fucked with that shit. If he wants an interview or crap like that I'll tell him where he can shove it."

"Which is why you'll leave the talking to the rest of us," Cait responded smoothly. Cid just grunted. "See you downstairs. If we're quick maybe we can miss him." He toddled off swiftly down the hallway.

Cid closed the door and leaned against it. He had envisioned his day after victory to be one of relaxation and sleep, and a serious lot of fuck all. He and Vincent listened to the chatter and noise accumulating outside, letting the still air dominate. It sounded like a different world out there. One they might have been a part of once upon a time, but not longer. Their lives had changed forever.

Looking into the bag, Cid turned into the room and pulled out two sets of clothes. "Looks like he got somethin' for you, too. How the hell does he know our sizes?" He shook his head. "These better not be the same fuckin' clothes that the whole team's got." Cid unfolded a pair of jeans and a black and white plaid shirt. There was a red and black one, too. Nothing else. "Guess I'm going commando." He hung his two items over an arm and put the bag with the others on the bed. "Think about it," he told Vincent, insinuating the clothes. He knew Vincent wouldn't wear them, though. "We're goin' out to toast the end of our mission. Be good if yer joined us."

Vincent regarded the bag with an impassive look, but said nothing.

Cid knew he wouldn't. He watched him a second longer before stepping back to the door, clutching the handle. "Eat somethin' at least, huh? I'll see yer later, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Feeling a little uneasy still, Cid left the room, pausing on the other side of the door. He couldn't shake this odd feeling. Maybe it was this whole survived-Meteor thing, maybe he was still extremely fatigued, or maybe he was hungry – he didn't eat that much. He figured he would get used to still being alive, he felt as though he had mentally convinced himself that he would die at the hands of Sephiroth.

In his room, he slung the clothes on the bed and made for the little bathroom. He brushed his teeth, tried to finger-comb his wild hair and then shrugged off his robe, strolling naked back to the bed. Their short make out scene replayed in his head. Vincent had been troubled by his new future, his opportunities, and he had latched onto Cid as a distraction. That would explain his eager pushes. But it seemed he had also realized something else: His life was not going to be as empty and lonely as he thought. He had found Cid.

But still, something bothered the pilot, and he wasn't sure what. He pushed it away again, checking the state of his boxers (they stank of sweat), and confirmed he would indeed be going without them. In a few short minutes he had pulled on the jeans, buttoned up half the shirt and slid his bare feet into his rank boots. They had survived better than he expected.

The sounds of the celebrations had grown louder. He glanced out his windows and saw the square packed with people. Fireworks were set off somewhere behind the buildings, exploding in a nostalgic display of colors. Cid watched with a detached sense of being. Would the whole world be rejoicing? How long until everyone returned to normal life? And then, would it be a historic day, forever remembered? Would people know of the nine individuals who had saved the world? Too many questions for Cid's liking.

A minute later he trotted down the stairs of the inn and out into a flow of people heading towards the square, drawn by the crackling fireworks.

"Cid!" Yuffie waved as he emerged. She was dressed in a pair of similar denim shorts and a plaid shirt like his, stood with the rest of the team and a tall, round-bellied man.

"Mr. Highwind!" The man boomed, reached both hands to shake Cid's. There was an official style to his suit. "I'm Tom Kim, the Mayor of Kalm – our town is honored to have you with us on this glorious day!"

Cid pulled his hand back, wondering just how quickly word had gotten around, and who the hell had done it. Looking at some of the tired faces happily trudging by he realized very few people would have slept last night; the near-death experience and adrenaline rush had kept the majority of the town awake.

"You must regale us with your story," the Mayor continued jubilantly, loud voice catching people's attention. "Come, please, I will offer you a spectacular view of the celebrating from the Town Hall and invite you to dine with –"

Cid opened his mouth to snap something nasty, but Cait quickly pushed in front of him.

"That's very kind of you, Mayor Kim, but we have to decline. Another time, perhaps?"

"Of course, of course," the Mayor nodded understandingly. "Please, enjoy the celebrations. But if I may just ask," and here he hesitated, choosing how to word his following question. "Did all of you actually stop Meteor?"

The team glanced at one another. Cloud was automatically elected to answer.

"One of our friends did," he said, respect evident on his tongue. "She saved us all."

The Mayor nodded, his joviality replaced by solemn sympathy. It was clear he noticed the sorrow etched deeply into their tired faces.

They left him to meander through the crowds towards the square, wordless as they went. It was too busy for Cid's taste, even before they reached the center. Pop-up food stalls were dotted about, a band was playing on the cobbled ground and dancers flittered merrily in their specially chosen outfits.

"It doesn't feel right," Tifa began suddenly, rich brown eyes panning around. "What about the people of Midgard? As its neighboring town, shouldn't Kalm be sending aid? Accepting refugees? Helping them?"

Hitching a ride on Red's back, Cait looked up. "They probably are in the process of doing. I doubt the Mayor will want to hinge the celebrations, though."

Tifa didn't seem too comforted for Cait's assurance. She loosely gripped her other arm and watched a group of cheering people whoop at the fireworks. Her plaid shirt was red and her shorts were black, and to Cid's chagrin it seemed they all had slight variations of the same clothes. They must have looked like a strange, mix-match family. Plus pets.

"Daddy, can I have a caramel apple?" Marlene chirped up, pointing at a vendor where a sweet aroma was emanating.

The two made their way over as the rest of the team watched. It was strange, Cid felt like part of a real family, the illusion made all the more real with Marlene's inclusion. Would they fall back into their own lives and drift away from each other? Would they want to? Each face was a reminder of all that they'd been through, and what they had lost. Cid wasn't even sure how he felt, he had never been attached to a group of friends before.

Barret and Marlene came back with apples for everyone, and the little girl took delight in handing them out. She kept ahold of Reds for him, and he gratefully chewed away at it.

"Vincent's not joining us, is he?" Yuffie asked loudly over the noise of laughter and cheers.

Cid shrugged. He suspected Vincent had swept away amongst the hustle and bustle, probably watching down from the rooftops, out of sight. The pilot glanced up.

Another barrage of fireworks lit up the sky, although the effect was somewhat diminished because of the bright blue, albeit fading, day. They wandered past the square's monument and watched the jubilations, munching on their confections.

"I saw the flower lady last night," Marlene said suddenly. "..I'll miss her."

Everyone stared at the little girl, lowering their candy apples. The feel of loss ran among them all, along with a shallow sense of guilt. Survivor's guilt, Cid realized. She was more deserving of life than he was, but her fate had been set. Had she known she had to die to ultimately save the planet?

"Let's go grab a drink," he announced suddenly. "We've got a toast to make."

A nod of agreement passed around them.

Shortly following, they left the hubbub for a slightly less noisy pub already filled with people drinking themselves into a celebratory haze. They were lucky enough to gather chairs around the last free table.

Cloud lifted his tankard, drawing attention. "To Aerith," he saluted to a rise of beverages, fair features illuminated softly by the lights above. "The true savior."

A chorus of "to Aerith" preceded, but as the team tipped their drinks to their lips, Barret halted them.

"And to the members of Avalanche that didn't make it, either," he said, glancing at Tifa. "Jessie. Biggs. And Wedge."

They drank to the memories, lost in their own bouts of thoughts and reminiscences. In contrast to the festivities outside, a somber silence overcame their table, and anyone looking over would have been confused by their morose dispositions.

But then, no one amongst the tipsy patrons paid any attention to the group of people who had saved their lives.

/

The celebrations continued well into the night. When the daylight faded Avalanche retreated. They had bid their respects to their lost friends, and Cid's airship, and had desired nothing more than the comfort of their rooms. Many people where still singing, still cheering, and a new salvo of fireworks had begun for the night's sky. It didn't matter how noisy they were, Cid knew he would sleep soundly.

The inn was dark when they returned, dispersing to their own rooms. The noise was muffled fairly well within the walls. Cid trudged his way up the stairs and slid his keycard into the lock, letting it shut behind him as he kicked off his shoes. Moonlight shone through his window, lit intermittently with the flashes of firecrackers.

Cid froze, neck jerking round to the figure hidden in the shadows. It took him a second to recognize it. "Vince?"

The gunman stepped into the beam of moonlight, and Cid realized with pleasant surprise that he was wearing the clothes Cait had bought. His eyes were like little orbs of red magic in the darkness, watching.

Cid's lips parted but his words strayed. His eyes roved over the plaid shirt, how it fit Vincent's body, displaying his lithe frame. The difference from his leather and cape was, again, so startling it took Cid's brain a second to register that this was indeed Vincent. His Vincent. The jeans sat snugly about his hips, showing off his shapely legs. Cid was almost ashamed to be turned on by simple clothes.

Vincent stalked over to him, crimson eyes studying his carefully, reading his expression. Watching, waiting. He seemed faintly insecure in his new appearance.

"I didn't see yer tonight," Cid started, unable to tear his eyes from their path down the length of his body. "Yer missed our celebrations…"

"I saw them," Vincent assured softly, his voice rolled deeply through the air between them. "But there is only one celebration I wish to partake…"

Something bolted down Cid's spine into his gut. Before he could ask, Vincent pressed their lips together, a slow, evocative kiss. They came apart with a quiet click, seeking each other's gaze as though they had both misread something. Both rethinking. The mood of the night had taken on a different feel altogether. Cid's fatigue was melting away.

Reaching up Cid brushed the bangs from Vincent's face; the action gave him a moment to confirm what he felt, what he saw in Vincent's eyes. Assured, he tilted his chin and sealed their lips, slow and stirring at first, kissing his way into Vincent's mouth. The pace increased and they pressed tighter, hands trailing their way across the other's body, their neck, their face. The kiss developed into a series of quicker nips and nudges, playful and impatient. Cid licked his way inside Vincent's mouth as he felt them step clumsily against each other.

A couple of seconds later the back of Cid's knees hit the bed and he tumbled back onto the mattress, dragging Vincent with him. They bounced on the springs, tousling the bed sheets, and a waterfall of black hair fell about Cid's face. He grinned and stretched up to rejoin again, quite content with their new position. He felt Vincent shift further above him, carefully bracing his knees either side of the ruffled pilot and dropping down to his elbows. His kisses slowed but deepened, chaste and possessive at the same time. Every bump of his lips, every move of his jaw sent a buzz through Cid. His hands slid from their position on the man's cheeks, down to his slender neck, where they stroked a few firm lengths before adventuring to his throat, dipping into the parted lapels of the shirt. He sucked at Vincent's lips as his fingers brushed across the contours of the collarbone, trailing a fingernail down his warm sternum.

The touch brought Vincent's eyes open a sliver and he ceased his movements, crimson irises shining with arousal. His hot breath fluttered across Cid's chin and he pulled up onto his hands to study the man beneath him.

"Gods, yer beautiful," Cid rasped hotly. He reached blindly for the little lamp switch on his bedside, wanting to see more than moonlight shadows. The dim light illuminated them both softly. Cid lifted one of his hands and drew a finger softly down Vincent's lips. "In every aspect."

The gunman's eyes blinked slowly, something gleaming beneath their depths in reaction.

Outside, the crackle of fireworks punctuated the air, but neither of the men looked at the colorful flares through the window. They only had eyes for each other.

Cid shifted his head in the sea of fabric to lock eyes with Vincent again. "We saved the world," he said lowly, as though just realizing it.

"We did."

Cid stretched his chin up and captured Vincent's lips again, content with the sounds of their ministrations lapping at the silence. His hands came up to the buttons of the gunman's shirt and paused as he broke away, gazing up at him, silently awaiting permission. Vincent's cheeks had begun to take on color and his eyes were shining with want. His answer came in the form of another kiss, surging upon Cid's lips keenly.

Deft fingers picked at the buttons quickly and once open broad, warm hands dipped inside. Cid's mind was literally above the clouds as his palms wandered across the curve of Vincent's ribcage, skimming the contours of his pectoral muscles. He braved an advance and thumbed an experimental stroke across a nipple. A soft, quick intake of breath drew past Vincent's lips, his eyes fluttering open. Cid was mesmerized. He repeated his action, deliberately slow, reveling in the way Vincent's chest compressed. Inching his palm a little further, Cid felt the familiar, magical tingle as he passed over the gunman's heart. This time though there was no reaction to it. Vincent seemed too preoccupied with Cid's lips. His nudges were tender and passionate, and for a brief moment Cid saw the attentive lover he had once been. He stored that info away and ran his hands across newer territory, dipping along the pinch of his waist. Cid wouldn't lie, he had dreamed of touching Vincent, but his own depraved fantasies couldn't even compare to reality.

Braving forward, he tore his lips away from Vincent's and trailed his way along the smooth jawline, down to the column of delicate skin. His mind was spinning in euphoria, processing the feel of Vincent's right hand riding slowly over his chest, rumpling the shirt. Before they knew it they were both hitching back further onto the bed, exchanging intermittent kisses. Cid's back pressed against the bed board as he slid Vincent's own shirt from his shoulders, exposing his torso.

Vincent paused where he knelt. Slowly, he sat back onto Cid's thighs, letting his clothing fall down his arms. The sight was enough to bring Cid's cock to attention. He realized Vincent was opening himself, lowering his barriers. He was inviting the intimacy between them. For so long he had been guarded and closed off; Cid had to wonder what made him feel comfortable taking a step further.

Vincent's hand and gauntlet began unbuttoning the pilot's shirt, eyes locked. There was something dangerously erotic in every action he made; Cid could see the Turk shining beneath the surface. His face was relatively composed, but his heart was racing beneath Cid's hands. He was gorgeous.

The pilot's shirt was being tugged slowly off his shoulders. He leaned forward for the garment to be done away with completely, sealing their lips back together and pulling Vincent further onto him as they sat back. Their groins brushed and Cid's hips twitched. Oh, sweet Shiva, Vincent was hard, too. Testing the waters, he flexed his pelvis.

Vincent's body stiffened with a sharp intake of breath and he paused, momentarily dazed. Cid wondered what these sensations were doing to a man who had been enhanced. Eager to find out, he ground his erection against Vincent's, watching his eyes shut, watching as his lips parted, drawing in little bursts of air. Cid had never felt so aroused by breathing before. He couldn't wait to see what an unraveled gunman looked like.

He started a slow, pleasing rhythm of his hips, delighted when Vincent's began to move in hesitant response. Cid's mind was literally puddles of hormones by now. If it had been a long time since he had any of this, Vincent must be finding it almost overwhelming.

Cid licked a trail down Vincent's neck, sucking on the thin flesh above the collar bone. His hands rolled over the man's hips, edging down to dip under the jeans. He undid the button and drew the zip down, but he paused there, waiting for any sign of uncertainty. Vincent's own had wound its way through his blond hair, his hips still swaying; he was far from uncertain. And when Cid's fingers stroked a line down his navel to the base of his erection, Vincent's breath hitched and he broke the kiss. Cid studied his eyes closely, his pupils blown wide, but before he could assume something was wrong Vincent pressed his mouth to the blond's carotid artery and began undoing his jeans.

Heart hammering his ribcage, Cid tilted his neck and ran his hands up Vincent's side, content to enjoy the other's charge. He felt a tug and lifted his hips, allowing his jeans to be slid down his legs and thrown to the floor. Now gloriously naked, Cid watched as Vincent's gaze ran the length of his body, over his evident arousal lying heavy on his stomach. The look in those red eyes was akin to approval. He settled on his hands and knees as Cid pulled him close.

"Your turn," he rasped, hooking his thumbs into Vincent's jean. He sat up to help slide them down, taking great enjoyment in the slow process as he kissed soothingly at the man's neck. A few seconds later they joined the other pair on the floor, and Cid took a moment to fully appreciate the beauty before him. Damn, he was well endowed. Cid feathered his fingertips down the toned pane of Vincent's abdomen, soaking in every little detail. Thin, white scars blemished the skin, but the one that caught Cid's attention was a large, vertical mark that ran from the sternum to his bellybutton. It had long since faded, leaving an imperceptible line that Cid had never noticed. It seemed Vincent's body had failed to heal him completely, and for a sad moment Cid realized these were the scars that had been inflicted before he had been given enhanced healing.

When he glanced back up Vincent's crimson eyes were watching him closely, gauging his reaction. Cid lowered his lips and placed open mouthed kisses along the long scar. His acceptance spurred them both, and they tumbled back onto the mattress, nipping and mouthing at any part of the other they could reach, naked bodies pressed hotly against each other.

Cid was above cloud nine, in fact he was on his way to the fucking stars. He rotated his hips, seeking friction, and was rewarded with a quiet, breathy grunt that did more to his boner than their actual skin contact. He still couldn't believe they had gotten to this, for Vincent to have stepped out of his boundaries and initiate something more intimate than their fleeting kisses. His body felt softer than Cid was expecting, having envisioned a man to be more chiseled and angular. Perhaps Vincent thought the same; maybe Cid was softer, too. But then… had he ever been with a man before?

Snaking a hand between them, Cid gripped both their arousals, resulting in an electrical jolt of pleasure. He thumbed the heads of their erections, toying with the sensitivity, wringing out a gentle hiss from his companion. No, his lover. He smeared their pre-come along their shafts, slowly working his palm along them. It might have been less than adequate, but as far as unprepared went, it was certainly doing the job. They had worked up a sweat, a fine sheen that helped ease Cid's actions as he brought them both twisting stabs of bliss. He was close to losing it, he could feel it building in his navel, hot and curling. Vincent's rocking hips were increasing, his lips catching Cid's with every motion. They were both breathless, climbing towards the pressure.

With a start, Cid watched Vincent's half-mast eyes flicker gold, before they closed against the sensations wracking his body. If he changes right now, I am fucked. He retained enough coherent sense to lift his free hand and touched the man's face, coaxing his eyes open again. They were red.

With clever fingers, Cid brought them both over the edge. Their bodies stretched taut, lips parted as they climaxed together. Muscles quivered for a brief moment of ecstasy, shuddering with release until they collapsed, boneless and breathless. Cid's mind swam in contented disarray as he felt the rapid beating of Vincent's heart against his, felt his long hair drape across his neck, and his breath against his ear. Even the new warmth seeping between them felt like heaven.

It was a few silent minutes until their bodies had come down from their highs. Vincent pushed himself onto his elbows and gazed down at Cid, with a new light in his eyes. After a tender kiss they stared at each other again.

"Damn," Cid whispered, unable to conjure something more sophisticated. He cupped Vincent's face and kissed him again. He couldn't get enough of those lips.

After a minute Vincent started to shift off the pilot and the bed, and he moved away into the darkness of the bathroom. Cid watched his perfect ass, admiring the lines of muscle sculpting his back. He returned with a washcloth and cleaned them off. Cid took it off him and dropped it carelessly before he could take it back, dragging Vincent back onto the mattress. He felt pretty justified in wrapping the man in his arms now, and oh did it feel good. They listened to the festivities still going strong outside as their bodies cooled down.

"This was the celebration yer had in mind?" Cid stifled a yawn. Exhaustion was creeping over him again. Pleasant, utter exhaustion.

Vincent settled his head into the pillow by Cid's, gazing at him. "Something like that," he whispered.

Cid slid his arm under Vincent's neck and the other palm resting on his chest, enjoying the physical touch. "Will yer stay by my side the whole night this time?"

Vincent blinked tiredly, satiated. "Yeah."

Cid couldn't have felt happier. He pressed their lips together once more, tongues twisting lazily, before drawing back. With a last glance at those crimson eyes, Cid closed his own, shifted even closer, and finally let the sweet lull of sleep claim him.

/

When he woke the following morning, the celebrations had ceased, and he was alone.

Vincent was gone.

/