Shelke didn't understand passion. She knew about it, of course, from the defragmented remnants of Dr. Lucrecia Crescent's personality within her. Those memories were within her, focused on Vincent- young, vibrant yet shy in public, and in private... well. The young lady couldn't think of that without blushing furiously. Vincent had been a very passionate and expressive person- and creative. It was his fault she couldn't look at a piano without blushing like mad. He had been passionate then. Now, he seemed... flat. Cold. Indifferent to the pleasures of the flesh, as if his long years under Hojo's reign and in repose in a coffin had leeched out every bit of that vibrancy.

Reeve was almost as bad, in her opinion, but for different reasons. He was passionate, all right- about his work. Whether it was fixing loose wires on Cait Sith or directing reconstruction of a new business complex, he was in the thick of things, seeming to thrive off of watching chaos coalesce into order. He was passionate about his friends- family, she supposed, since he had no living blood kin. Even Barrett had to reluctantly accept that, since Marlene would throw fits if Tifa tried to leave her with anyone other than her 'Uncle Reeve'. Shelke was certain, however, that those areas were the only ones he ever expressed passion in. She'd heard scuttlebutt from ex-Shinra, rumors that she took as truth, how the Head of Urban Development had shunned most all intimate contact. Never married, infrequently seen with members of either sex in any capacity outside of work.

So when Shelke had heard the rumors that the ex-Turk and the WRO commissioner were sleeping together, she could only shake her head in disbelief. Co-workers, yes; friends, certainly; but lovers? Not possible. For two people who were so logical and self-controlled? In her mind they were almost asexual, too old and set in their ways to match the idea of passion Lucrecia's fragments keep tossing at her mind.

They didn't match the passion of old at all. They exceeded it.

-

Sex is a taboo subject for verbal discussion between them, at least in public. It's not that they're uncomfortable with it, per se- Reeve has the libido of a sixteen-year-old, and Vincent loops from quiet and gentle to feral and wild with a proverbial flip of a switch. It's just that, as so many other things, it's just not something to talk about in public. Think about, yes- but not openly discussed.

So when Reeve gets a faraway look in his eyes as he picks at his dessert

(dark brown dripping over that lean, scarred stomach, the sweetness of chocolate and the faint salt of sweat as he drew his tongue over the skin, and oh, how he'd quivered when he'd taken that bite of the fruit and fed him, mouth to mouth, tongues dueling over the last tiny piece-)

Vincent just shakes his head and hides his smile with a sip of wine- and hides his iother/i reaction with a well-placed claw in his lap.

Likewise, when Vincent goes silent and ducks his head into the high collar of his mantle

(riding him, hard and fast, broad hands braced against his chest as his scarred and twisted hands dug into his hips, holding him steady above him with each thrust until he cried out and oh, how his hazel eyes had shone in the moonlight above him, half-slitted like a cat's, his skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat and his name on his lips as he came-)

Reeve just gives him a speculative glance and shifts in his chair, the long coat covering all evidence of anything other than amusement.

The one time that they slip up in public, Shelke and Yuffie are there to catch them, in a supply closet of all places- Vincent pinning Reeve to the wall, Reeve's hands slipping up the front of Vincent's shirt, lips locked together- the girls squeal loud enough for half the crew of the Shera to hear. "I knew it!" Yuffie proclaims, ignoring Vincent's death glare and Reeve's flush of embarrassment. Shelke just stares, her cheeks heating up and the last fragments of Lucrecia stirring up alien jealousy. "It's about time you guys admitted it! Gaia, you two have as much passion in you as a couple of old ladies! Hey Cid! Shera! They're finally doing it!" And she spins on her heel, Shelke in tow, to proclaim to the rest of the crew that, in fact, the ex-Turk and WRO commissioner have finally broken down and, horror of horrors, kissed each other.

Reeve blinks and looks back up to Vincent. "... 'finally' doing it?" He laughs, not bothering to withdraw his hands from their explorations. "What the hell would she call all the other times? Practice?"

Vincent chuckles, shivering as Reeve flicks a calloused thumb over one nipple. "Perhaps." He leans forward, eyes glowing, and nips at the other's lips. "Feel like putting some of those lessons to work?"

"Well, they do say practice makes perfect..." And Reeve reached out with his foot and slammed the door closed.