Fractured - Chapter 4
Sorry for the delay folks! Madi has not been feeling well, but she's back in action! And now we proudly give you the last chapter of:
Title: Fractured
Authors: madisuzy and calvi_sama
Pairing: Vincent x Tseng
Point In Canon: Two years after FFVII, immediately before Advent Children
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: We do not own, nor profit from, the characters and/or locations of Final Fantasy
Warning: Yaoi, oral, anal, y'know... the good stuff! X3... some violence, some insults, oh, and angst, but that comes standard ;3
Summary: Vincent revisits his past looking for an explanation to the nightmare, only to discover an unexpected intruder looking for his own answers. As a result, both men find more than they could have ever expected.
A/N: Simply put, this is an RP with madisuzy writing Tseng and calvi_sama writing Vincent (surprised? thought not *snickers*). It was an interesting challenge to bring Vincent back to character (with a little stretching), but well worth it by the end I think X3. Our writing style has matured a bit since the last (ongoing) fic, and due to length, this story is four chapters. It is also the first story in the Salvaged Fate Trilogy.
Chapter 4
“You’re showing a remarkable amount of trust, Tseng,” Vincent murmured, withdrawing his hand and bringing his forearm to his mouth. Working the first buckle lose he unfastened it then pulled off his freed glove with his teeth. He took a moment to look at his pale hand and fought back the memories it caused to come forward. That was why he kept even his hands covered. Everything about him reminded him of his past, tore at his conscience and weakened whatever resolve he had carefully cultivated over the short years he had been awake. He made a fist, flexing his hand and relaxing the long fingers; once, twice, three times before he snapped out of it and maneuvered the oil in his gauntleted hand in order to flip open the cap of the oil and coat the first two fingers of his bare hand.
“Drop your pants and bend over the table, Tseng.” Vincent directed, snapping the cap shut and tossing the oil onto the table.
“You’re a true romantic, Valentine,” Tseng replied, letting his pants fall to the floor and stepping out of them. In the state his clothes were already in, there was no point in trying to save them from the dirt and dust on the floor. Taking a few steadying breaths, he leant forward, resting his hands on the table and exposing his backside to the gunman. A small part of him was screaming at him not to do this, to regain his pride and walk away, but Tseng ignored it, deciding it was long overdue. Besides, Vincent was beautiful and seemed to be merciful and considerate, when it came to sex at least. Tseng was quite aware of the fact he could do far worse for his first time.
“I didn’t exactly have time for chocolate and roses, or is exercising your sarcasm how you relax?” Vincent replied, wiping the majority of the oil from his fingers over Tseng’s puckered opening before giving a firm buttock a healthy swat. He was rewarded by the reverberating crack of flesh striking flesh, but it was a gentle blow all things considered, and it made him smile. He then replaced his fingers at Tseng’s anus and leaned over the man’s back to nuzzle just behind the Turk’s ear. “It would do you well to relax or this shall be more painful that it has to be, Director.” That was the only warning he gave before he pushed a finger past the tight ring of muscle.
He could feel the reflexive clench of muscle around the digit and he pressed further. “Relax,” he breathed, bracing on his gauntleted arm upon the table so as not to press his full weight against the Turk’s back.
“Roses would… have been nice,” Tseng hissed, eyes wide at the burning sensation from only one finger. Shit, Vincent’s cock was going to hurt. Shaking his head, he put aside the thought, making his body relax and falling back on his training. He was a Turk and pain was what he knew. Surprisingly, once his body did relax, the finger didn’t hurt anymore, instead leaving a strange, kind or uncomfortable feeling in its wake.
“I never would have figured you to be a flowers man, Tseng,” Vincent replied wryly, but was relieved when he felt Tseng’s body relax around his finger. Now, to find that one spot… he curled his finger, probing deeper and sliding out, twisting it and curling again. He knew he found it when Tseng jumped and his grin widened. That was his cue to insert a second finger and curled them against it again. “Better? Or are you still having second thoughts?” he whispered, dropping his mouth to begin kissing and nibbling the Turk’s neck.
“Shit,” Tseng gasped, his doubts melting away as his hips started moving of their own accord, pushing back in an attempt to feel it again. The idea of the gunman’s cock inside of him became more attractive with every thrust of Valentine’s fingers, his body not even protesting at all when a third finger was added. Somehow he’d ended up on his forearms instead of his hands, but he made no attempt to straighten back up, the angle much better from this position.
Tseng’s reactions were telling Vincent it was time to take it to the next level and he withdrew his fingers. He pushed himself up off of Tseng, grasped his cock and pressed slowly into Tseng’s relaxed opening. There was resistance at first but after he got the head of his cock into the Turk’s body it became easier and Vincent gave a low, soft moan as the tight, dry heat enveloped and squeezed him. Spreading his legs for a more stable position, he moved his hands to Tseng’s hips and stood still a moment to allow the man’s body to adjust. When he felt Tseng relax the rest of the way he began to thrust slowly in long, sure strokes that had his eyes falling shut and his grip on Tseng’s hips tightening.
To be taken by Vincent wasn’t anything like Tseng had imagined. His walls of stone had cracked enough to let the gunman in, to let this happen, but now they crumbled as his body was overcome. He’d known for many years that he preferred men to women, but his job had prevented him from ever exploring the possibility and when he had imagined it, Tseng had never thought of being bottom. To have Vincent inside of him, making him feel alive for the first time in years was confusing, intense and more than a little overwhelming. Any possibility of keeping up his Turk appearance of coldness was gone and Tseng was left moaning in pleasure while his hands scrambled for purchase on the desktop. “Don’t… stop,” he gasped desperately.
Vincent had absolutely no intention whatsoever of stopping. He did however release the grip his right hand had on Tseng’s hip to slide it up under the Turk’s white dress shirt. He found that he rather enjoyed the feel of the smooth, warm skin under his hand, and the way Tseng’s muscles bunched and slid just under the surface. Up his hand ran until it came to rest at the base of Tseng’s neck, under the strait black hair that was coming free of its tie. So re-positioned, Vincent pressed down with that hand, pinning Tseng to the table and increased the speed and force of his thrusts. His enhanced strength buoyed his stamina and very quickly the only sounds in the decrepit study were their harsh pants, Tseng’s moans and the rapid, rhythmic slapping of flesh upon flesh.
Nearly all of Vincent’s higher brain activity had ceased in favor of his baser instincts to rut. The only thing he could focus on was the tightness around his dick and the slowly building pressure that heralded an impending orgasm, tightening his balls and making his thighs and buttocks tingle. This, was good.
The hand pressing down on the base of Tseng’s neck, trapping him against the desk, should have caused panic and made his self defense instincts kick in. Instead, Tseng found it only added to the pleasure as something inside of him craved the domination it represented. Before he could even process his own submission, all thoughts where washed away in a wave of bliss, his orgasm crashing over him with a force that left him seeing spots before his eyes, fighting for breath that wouldn’t come. As his vision came back and his thoughts realigned, he could hear a strange whimpering sound and was surprised to discover it was coming from his own lips.
It was the combination of seeing the Turk’s body stiffen and twitch, and the soft sounds of submission that finally drove Vincent over the edge. In a final couple of thrusts, his jaw clenched with every muscle in his abdomen flexing, he buried himself into Tseng’s body as he came. He held perfectly still has he felt his cock swell, then empty as his own completion came and went, leaving his body spent and his brain fuzzy. Gently he withdrew from the Turk’s body and rolled the man over. He pushed Tseng back so that the other man had to sit on the desk before he lay down.
Now Vincent took a moment to really see the Turk before him. Tseng’s hair had come free and the shoulder-length wealth of black hair was a dark cloud around the pale face. Black eyes rimmed by darker lashes peered up at him as he let his own blood-colored gaze travel down the Turk’s lean frame. He reached out his gloveless hand and pushed the ruined white shirt open and off of the man’s chest, creating an unimpeded view of Tseng’s nude torso. He let his fingers brush over the flesh that his eyes scrutinized, his own face completely blank of expression as he traced one of Tseng’s dark, pebbled nipples with white, ghost-like fingers.
He was entranced, hypnotized by the beauty in front of him, the gift that was life that everyone around him seemed to take for granted. What he would give to have that life again.
He frowned when his gaze traveled down and was caught by the faint scar on Tseng’s abdomen. He touched it lightly. Sephiroth. Here was proof again that both friend and foe had been touched by the Demon of Wutai, and had not escaped unscathed. Reverently, Vincent leaned forward and brushed his lips over that telling scar. How had he missed it the first time? Had he been so bent on proving something to Tseng that this mark had escaped him? Rising back up, he took in the rest of the Turk’s body, from the defined muscles of the man’s stomach to the points of Tseng’s hipbones to the soft black curls of Tseng’s pubic hair.
He reached out and gently ran his fingers over Tseng’s softening cock. This man was his, whether the Turk realized it or not. “Am I forgiven for forgetting the roses then?” he asked softly, stroking Tseng’s thigh and peering down at the man from under heavy black bangs. He couldn’t help it, it just came out.
“Definitely,” Tseng answered softly, smirking up at the gunman. Vincent looking over him like this had a strange effect on the Turk. Usually, he would be uncomfortable to be so exposed and would have moved to cover his nudity, but somehow this was different. Somehow, it felt right. He knew immediately that his own mind was wandering into dangerous territory so he tried to still it, instead memorizing the man before him, knowing that he would never have this moment again. Valentine hated Shinra, and by extension hated Tseng who would always be a part of it. This moment was just an anomaly, a fracture in both of their realities.
Vincent just continued to stare at Tseng, finger idly playing over the skin of Tseng’s upper thigh, face expressionless once again. What had just happened here? When had they gone from nearly killing each other to these strange expressions and feelings? The longer he looked at the mostly naked man in front of him, exposed, vulnerable… open, the more his chest hurt. Old, dusty memories arose like dust motes on a sudden breath of wind to dance in front of his eyes: Veld’s merry hazel eyes and easy laugh, Lucrecia’s giggle and shy smile. When had he stopped feeling? Stopped caring and only existed? Had he turned away so quickly from his humanity? Did he even have enough left to turn away from?
He had gone into this intending to fuck Shinra, to get a stab back at the man and company that had ruined his life and betrayed him, taken Veld and Lucrecia away from him by murder and madness. What better way to do that than break the Director of the department he had sworn his loyalty, his life to? But it hadn’t happened that way had it. Somehow the predator had turned into the prey, and now the predator was struggling to hold onto the illusion of control. But Tseng was just as much a victim as he, wasn’t he? Enslaved and enthralled by the same fanatical devotion and loyalty that he had once had himself. He clenched his jaw against the unwanted thoughts that ripped through his mind. Well, regardless of what he now felt and thought he was taking what was his.
Leaning up and over Tseng, Vincent wrapped his hand around Tseng’s throat, holding the man down, and raised his gauntlet. Holding it in front of both of their faces, he made sure Tseng saw it before he lowered it, and with one bladed claw he carved a “V” into the flesh of the Turk’s right pectoral, just above one dark nipple, his lips sliding apart in a slightly feral grin.
Tseng hissed at the pain, trying to struggle out from underneath the ex-Turk with his eyes wide. The sudden fear that Valentine might kill him now he had found his release surged to the forefront of his thoughts, making his face blush with the shame of how he’d just allowed himself to be used. His attempts at escape were pathetic, Vincent’s strength so far beyond Tseng’s that he finally allowed his body to go limp, staring up into blood red eyes that frightened him for so many conflicting reasons. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, words the only weapon he had left to hide behind.
“What am I doing?” Vincent whispered, pulling his gauntlet away from Tseng’s chest slowly. Tseng’s thick ruby-colored blood coated the blade of the digit he had used for his work, and he wiped it clean on what was left of Tseng’s shirt. Leaving his hand around the Turk’s throat, knowing full well that if he were to let go, the man would be at him with everything he had, Vincent leaned down to rest his lips against one of Tseng’s pale ears. “I’ve marked you,” he breathed, gently kissing the shell of the ear he spoke into.
“You will not use a Cure on this. You will let it heal naturally and every time you stand naked before your mirror and see this mark you will know who it is that owns you. When you lie alone in your bed you will remember who you let into your body, and you will remember my touch. I own you, Tseng, ‘Head of the Turks’, and you know it. You let me in, and you loved every minute of it.” Grinning against Tseng’s cheek, he then slid down the Turk’s body to slowly lick up the blood that had begun to trickle down the man’s chest.
“O… own me?” Tseng stuttered, his mind reeling as he tried to process Vincent’s words. His confusion was a raw ache in his chest, the implications of Valentine’s words throwing hope and longing into his automatic reaction of disgust at being treated as an item, a thing to be possessed. The arrogance of those words fired up his abused pride, making him want to scoff and taunt the gunman’s overrated opinion of his own importance… but he said nothing. His lips opened and closed, the words waiting and ready, but refusing to be spoken. Frowning in frustration, Tseng could only lay still, muscles taught in his distress as he tried to argue with his own mind. He didn’t want to be owned… did he?
Finally his thoughts stilled to an odd kind of acceptance, more disturbing to him than anything he’d ever experienced before. The anger was still there but now it was directed at himself more than the man before him. “I already have an owner, Vincent. Or have forgotten Shinra?” he whispered, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him.
“You serve Shinra out of honor and pride. It was your choice, as it had been mine, to put on that collar,” Vincent replied simply, standing back up and licking his lips. “Just as it is your choice to remove it or leave it in place. But I’ve taken the choice from you. Your body has betrayed you and your mind will follow suit. You could have continued to fight me, but you didn’t. I gave you what you wanted. I gave you a master, until you find the strength to realize what it is you want and to fight for it.” Carefully he closed Tseng’s shirt over his exposed chest, blood from Tseng’s new wound seeping through the material right before his eyes. He felt a brief stab of guilt, but it was gone before it could cause him panic.
Gripping the Turk’s arms he pulled Tseng into a sitting position before kneeling to retrieve the man’s discarded pants after first tucking himself back into his own leathers and refastening the buckles. Standing again he reached out and tilted Tseng’s chin up so that he could stare into the Turk’s black eyes. “Keep your pride and your honor, but don’t you ever forget what happened here.”
Pride and honor… Did he even have any left after this? Tseng could only gaze back at Vincent, all the aches and pains of his body’s abuse tingling back to life and making him feel so very tired and beaten. “I…,” he began, losing his train of thought as a sharp pain from his backside made him wince. Yes, he would be remembering this for quiet some time to come.
“What is it you want from me?” he finally asked, his voice only a whisper but easily heard in the silence of the room.
Vincent jerked his hand back from Tseng’s face as though burned. Had there been any color in his own he would have lost it. As it was it was a miracle he could even keep his face straight. What did he want? What was the purpose of all of that? The fact that in the end he was no better than Shinra was a razored barb in his soul. He’d just told Tseng to keep his pride and his honor, but how could the man do that when he was the one who had just stripped it away in the worst way possible? He took a step back from Tseng, then another and another. Yet another sin he had to atone for. What had he done? What a selfish, hypocritical and arrogant bastard he had been. Could he even say anything to that question? Did he even want to?
He turned away from Tseng and said over his shoulder softly, “Get dressed.”
He left the room and walked over to his mantle and Tseng’s jacket. He paused before reaching down to pick them up and dug into his pocket to pull out a pink ribbon. Marlene had given them each one to wear in memory of Aerith, and he stared down at it now. “What’s wrong with me, Aerith?” he whispered to it, running his bare thumb over the material. He had never felt worthy enough to put it on, and he felt even more removed from that now. He thought back to a late night talk he had had with her around a fire when everyone else had gone to sleep just a short two years ago. Before her death.
He had admitted to her that he didn’t know how he could go on existing feeling the way he did and she had replied with a giggle, “You live, silly. It’s the best way you can honor those who have lost their own.” He hadn’t understood then, and had said as much; inquiring after the living in an attempt to clarify his own confusion. Aerith’s response had been one of her beautiful smiles as she held up a finger and said, one green eye squeezed shut, “Then help them live better.”
He still didn’t understand and he brought the ribbon up to his lips as he made a solemn, silent promise to try to learn before he could destroy anything else… including himself. Ribbon clutched in his bare hand he picked up his mantle and Tseng’s jacket in his gauntleted one, and returned to the study and the bitter pain and anger he was sure he would find directed at him. He deserved it.
Tseng was even more confused by Vincent’s reaction, not sure why his words had caused the gunman so much distress. When he was left alone, he slowly slipped his pants back on, leaning back on the desk and trying to digest all that had occurred. The ex-Turk talked of ownership but wanted nothing from him. People always wanted something… didn’t they?
He looked up in surprise when Vincent came back, wondering why he’d returned until he saw his own jacket in the ex-Turk’s claw. The fact it was being returned to him only confused him more, the act one of consideration that he hadn’t thought Vincent would extend to him. “Thank you,” he murmured, holding out his hand to take it from the older man.
A flash of pink caught his eye and he glanced at the ribbon held in Vincent’s other hand, noticing it was the same one both Cloud and Tifa wore and curious as to its meaning. “Vincent, may I ask what the ribbon symbolizes?” he asked, eyes flicking up to the ex-Turk’s.
The sudden shift from beaten acceptance to curiosity in place of anger and accusation made Vincent wary, and he looked down at the ribbon as though seeing it for the first time. He was so thrown off that he answered openly and honestly. “Aerith,” he said softly. “We were given these ribbons in memory of Aerith. The others wear them, but I- I can’t.”
“Why not?” Tseng asked, eyes moving back to the ribbon. “You were one of the people she loved… part of her family. Is there a reason you don’t want to remember her in this way?”
Vincent’s thumb traced over the ribbon and his face became sad. “Because everything she stood for went against everything that I am…” he sighed softly, “… and everything that I once was. I’m sure you can relate.”
Tseng chuckled a little, eyes distant as he remembered his own times with Aerith. “You and I both know what she would say to that,” he said, smiling sadly. “She never was one to judge and loved without prejudice. You should wear it… honor her and remember her as she deserves.” He reached forward tentatively, pulling the ribbon from Vincent’s fingers and tying it around his arm slowly, hoping he wasn’t pushing things too far but certain it was the right thing to do.
Eying the ribbon and then the Turk that had tied to his upper forearm, above the buckles, he said wryly, “I never thought I would hear that from a Turk.” But he made no move to take it off.
Smile wide, Tseng pulled his hands back to his lap and looked up at Vincent. “Well, maybe you don’t know all Turks as well as you think you do. I knew Aerith for a long time and even though she knew of my sins and saw some first hand, she was kind to me. She was… a rare person of value, especially in this world.”
“Yes she was,” Vincent murmured, stepping back and moving over to retrieve his glove from the table where he had dropped it. He was silent as he slipped it back onto his hand and refastened the buckle that held it in place. He flexed his hand as he stared down at it, feeling comforted by the worn leather and yet strangely sad. “Times have changed indeed if Turks have grown a sense of conscience,” he said softly.
“Times change, we adjust… it is just the way of things,” Tseng murmured offhandedly, pulling his eyes away from Vincent form. His gaze kept being drawn back but he knew it was not welcome so he found a spot on the wall to stare at, feeling foolish for his continued weakness when it came to the gunman. There were many things he wanted to ask, questions that begged to be answered but he simply couldn’t find the strength to voice them. He knew he should be more worried about his failed mission but for now, it mattered little to other thoughts spinning in his mind.
“Mm,” Vincent grunted, wandering over to stand facing one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the study, empty now except for dust. He reached up and rested a hand on the shelving. His time here was coming to a close. He would leave soon; he felt the pull, the desire to do so, acutely. Times change, we adjust… it is just the way of things. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he whispered, studying the back of his hand. He felt, beaten, worn down and tired. His own weakness had been thrown into his face and it would require time to reflect upon. He needed a place to go; somewhere he could be alone... but first things first.
"Two thousand years ago, a meteor slammed into the Northern Continent of this planet." Vincent said softly, trailing a newly gloved finger over the dusty bookshelf it had been resting upon. He could feel Tseng’s eyes on him and didn’t really care, or did he? "The effect on the planet's ecosystem was catastrophic, and a group of Cetra were sent to investigate it. There they found not only the remains of the meteor, but an unknown biological alien organism near its core; a parasite that had somehow managed to survive the impact. Before they truly realized what is was they had found, a woman had had direct contact with the organism and the parasite began to consume her.
“The effect upon the Cetra was nearly as catastrophic as the meteor’s impact upon the planet and the surviving Cetra finally managed to seal this new creature away but not before their civilization had been nearly obliterated." Vincent's eyes were unfocused and his voice was resonant and distant, as though in a dream. "The irony is that what happened to that Cetra woman is not unlike what is happening with myself and Chaos. But the long and short of it is that what we are seeing now with Geostigma is simply history repeating itself, and unless we can find a cure then we too shall die." It was a collective “we”, but he didn’t bother to correct himself. He would continue to live regardless of what happened to the rest of the planet’s inhabitants.
He turned around and met Tseng’s eyes, the man's expression unreadable. "The only thing that I'm afraid of is that it may be up to the planet in the end to determine if her children are worthy of surviving this new plague. But where we differ from the Cetra is that we are children of science where they were children of magic, and science just may be what saves us. That is why if there are any remains of Jenova left, then you must find them."
The trust Vincent had shown him by giving him this information wasn’t lost on the Turk, though he couldn’t work out why the gunman had suddenly decided to co-operate with him. “Do you have any ideas of where we could look? All of Hojo’s laboratories and any other buildings he had access to have already been scoured and nothing has been found. The only reason I came here was out of desperation, thinking that maybe the others had missed something.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow. “I’m rather shocked that you had to ask me that, Tseng, ‘Head of the Turks’.” He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the man in front of him. “Think. What was the whole reason we know about Jenova in the first place?”
“Sephiroth… which would mean the Northern Crater,” Tseng mused, looking down at the floor so his brain could focus on his mission instead of what had just occurred. “I suppose it is possible there may be something left that could be of use to the scientists… it is worth a look, if nothing else.” He glanced back up, meeting Vincent’s eyes. “Thank you for the information.”
Inclining his head, Vincent walked back to the desk that the Turk continued to lean against and scrutinized the man before shaking out his mantle, swinging it back over his shoulders and buckling it closed. Impulsively he reached out and traced Tseng’s cheek with his fingers once, murmuring, “Be careful. The Northern Crater is a dangerous place. Get in and get out.” He then blinked, dropping his hand and with a final nod he turned and began his journey back to the surface.
Tseng watched him go in silence, unable to say any of the things that tried to come forth from his lips. Everything seemed so surreal now, even with his various injuries reminding him of the truth and his battered appearance confirming the reality. He sat for a few minutes were he was, pulling himself together enough to stand and retrieve the rest of his belongings that had been scattered around. Both his main and back up gun were soon found, his ruined boxers shoved into a pocket but his hair band was nowhere to be found. Sighing, he left it behind, to weary to worry about a single elastic as he ran his hands through his hair and walked out the door, a little angry at not having the bravery to ask what he really wanted to before Vincent had left.
Walking down the tunneled hallway, he was surprised to come across Vincent once more, the gunman seemingly lost in thought as he stood in the doorway of another room, staring at a coffin lying in the center with a blank expression. Being presented with a second chance to ask, pushed Tseng to approach, stopping a few feet away and trying to phrase the question of ‘why?’ and ‘will I see you again?’ into a coherent sentence. Unfortunately, words were not Tseng’s specialty and the pain in his chest from the carved V ended up taking precedence.
“You marked me… do I get to return the gesture?” he murmured, sarcasm making a comeback when it was least needed as his frustration with his own inabilities surfaced.
Times change, we adjust... it is just the way of things’, is that what I’m doing? Adjusting? Vincent thought as he stood there in the doorway of his old prison, staring down at the purple wood and velvet box that had been his bed for thirty years while he hid away from the world and all its pain. Silence hung heavy between them as Tseng’s question went unanswered. The strong shall live and force the weak to submit or die, but isn’t it the weak, with their crafty, sly minds that ultimately hold sway over the strong? And so the balance is always shifting, changing and redefining itself so that the lines are forever blurred. Perhaps- perhaps it is the weak that gives the strong their strength. Vincent gave a thoughtful smile at that and snorted a silent chuckle.
He looked over his shoulder at Tseng from the corner of his eye as he gathered his strength to teleport, and said softly, “You already have, Tseng.” And with a crackle of energy, he disappeared.
~ Fin ~
End Note: So concludes Fractured, the first installment of the Salvaged Fate Trilogy. Vincent and Tseng's story will continue in Broken, where Vincent begins to come to grips with his newly awakened emotions in regards to a captured enemy and Tseng is saved by the last person he expected.