Tattered Photographs Part I
Title: Tattered Photographs
Author: calvi_sama
Summary: Vincent had always wondered about Yazoo’s (unknown) past and what had happed to make the man he had come to know the way he was, but had never directly pursued it. Tonight, after sex, Yazoo decides to share, and through his modified body, Vincent witnesses the horrors, and has to convince his lover of his own worth.
Rating: NC-17/M
Pairing: Vincent x Yazoo
Disclaimer: I do not in any way own, or profit from, the FFVII characters - If I did I wouldn’t do this to them.
Warnings: **child abuse/rape**, all things yaoi, some emotional fluffy-type stuff, and some character OOC'ness…please, if these warnings are upsetting to you, then do not read this. It is not my intention to cause discomfort or offense!
A special ‘thank you’ is extended to my beta for not only having to deal with my inability to punctuate properly, but helping me with word selection!
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They lay together, sweaty and sated, in twisted black satin sheets. The only sounds in the room were the ticking of the wall clock, the hypnotic ‘swishing’ of the ceiling fan and their ragged breathing.
“Loz tells me that you’ve been making some…discreet inquires about my past, Vincent.” Yazoo said absently to the ceiling, fingers running in idle, light circles over one of his erect nipples.
There was a soft rustling as Vincent rolled his head to the side in order to watch his lover’s face, “This is true.” He replied, though he need not have.
“Do you wish to know it then?”
“If I am to enter into a relationship with a person, then yes, I wish to know all that I can about them.”
“A person,” Yazoo said sarcastically, not bothering to look at Vincent.
He sighed patiently, “You know what I meant, Yazoo.”
“Well, Gods forbid there be any misinformation between us, Vincent.” Yazoo replied wryly.
“Yazoo, why are you being like this?”
Now Yazoo’s head swiveled to meet Vincent’s red stare. “If we are to be in a relationship, then a partner must learn to ask his lover questions, and not go behind his back to his cousin.”
Vincent nodded, breaking eye contact to stare at the ceiling as Yazoo had done, “I deserved that. You are, of course, right.”
Yazoo remained silent, watching Vincent and waiting, and it took Vincent a moment to catch on to the meaning of the bright green stare. He looked back over to his lover and asked bluntly, “What happened to you?”
Yazoo nodded, “Not so hard, was it?” Yazoo rolled over onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. “My father was abusive. When he wasn’t drinking and beating one of us, he was blaming my mother for how I turned out and drilling into my head the impropriety of relationships with men.” He snorted dryly at the irony of the current circumstances.
“How did you come to live with Loz, then?” He asked with mild curiosity.
“What, did Loz not tell you?” Yazoo asked irritably.
“No, as you knew that he would not.”
“Yes, Loz is nothing if not fiercely loyal to his family.” Yazoo said faintly, “Both of my parents died when I was ten. Loz and his mother took me in and raised me the rest of the way.”
“I see,” Vincent replied impassively.
“What do you know about it!?” Yazoo hissed, suddenly and without warning, rolling on top of Vincent, to straddle his hips, and pin the gunslinger’s arms over his head. “You were not there! You never had to listen to the yelling, the screaming and weeping, the begging for mercy. You never had your body violated over and over, night after night until it was torn and bleeding as your own tears made it impossible to breathe. So don’t tell me you understand!”
Vincent blinked in surprise at Yazoo’s sudden, seemingly random and vehement outburst. His body tensed at the sudden restraint, but he forced his muscles to relax, remaining pinned as he watched the emotion glisten in the green eyes above him. Yazoo’s face betrayed no feeling, but his eyes were awash with heart-wrenching pain. Vincent carefully schooled his face into neutrality.
“I didn’t say I understood, Yazoo.” Vincent said carefully.
Yazoo remained still as stone, and just as unreadable.
Gently Vincent raised one hand to rest upon Yazoo’s cheek, which Yazoo promptly smacked away. Undeterred, Vincent replaced it. This time Yazoo allowed it, and Vincent stroked the soft, white skin just under that shimmering jade-colored eye. With a jolt that felt like an electric shock, Vincent felt fragmented emotion come streaming into his mind: shame, horror, pain, revulsion…and they were all directed at Yazoo. But the worst part were the broken memories from a little boy, like tattered, old photographs of memories that were better left forgotten, but were doomed to remain branded upon the mind in which they dwelled.
He looked out of wide, terrified eyes as he saw his mother backhanded into a wall, while he huddled under a table, painfully skinny arms wrapped around equally skinny knees, as he bit through his lip in an attempt to remain quiet.
He flinched with each kick to his mother’s curled body as tears streamed, unchecked, down his hollow cheeks.
He felt the confusion and panic as he petted the matted, bloody hair of his mother, as he huddled next to her broken body while he waited for her wake up and tell him what to do.
He screamed in pain as a pot of boiling water was flung on him.
He starved quietly in utter darkness while he cried, desperately trying to be quiet so he wouldn’t come and beat him again with his belt, or Gods save him the fireplace poker again.
He lay curled up in his bed, blankets wound around his body and wedged nearly in between the bed and the wall, trembling and desperately clutching his ratty, frayed old stuffy as though trying to use it a shield. Sheer terror filled his body, making him wet his sheets as he heard the door to his room open and a heavy footfall come striding over to his bed. He flinched as his blankets were wrenched from around him and flung to the floor. He whimpered as he tried to scramble away but cried out when a heavy, rough hand closed around his ankle and dragged him back on his belly. He couldn’t stop the tears and he struggled and kicked out as his sleep-pants were brutally ripped from his bony hips and his hair was grabbed, wrenching his head back. He screamed when he forced his body into his smaller one…over and over the screams kept coming until there was nothing left, and he was rendered into blessed unconsciousness, his blood staining yet another set of urine-soaked sheets.
And in the background he heard a woman weeping…
With a jerk, Vincent pulled his hand away, swallowing hard as bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t speak as he looked at Yazoo. The beautiful young man above him watched him through haunted eyes. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t be condescending or patronizing but…
Vincent breathed sadly, “What I’m saying now, is that it is not your fault.”
Yazoo watched Vincent impassively as those red eyes had changed to gold when he had touched him, and then just as quickly back to red. They were sad, but there was something else there that Yazoo couldn’t place. He snorted and leaned down until their faces were only inches apart, his lips hovering over Vincent’s, “But yes it is, Vincent. Don’t you see?” Yazoo nuzzled Vincent’s cheek, nipping along the gunslinger’s jaw as his hips ground down in slow, seductive circles.
Vincent gritted his teeth as his body began to respond. He absolutely refused to play this little game. “How in Gaia’s name is it your fault, Yazoo?” he gasped, and grabbed Yazoo’s hand when it began to stroke his hardening cock. He scowled darkly at the young man.
Yazoo pouted sarcastically, “What kind of a son would allow his mother to be beaten up every night? What kind of a son,” he spat the word as though he hated it, “would hide in a closet, pissing his pants while the only person who ever loved him was begging for mercy?”
Vincent went still, and when he asked, his voice was soft and deep, “How old were you Yazoo?”
“What, when he started raping me? Or when the beatings began?” Yazoo said sardonically.
Vincent let out a silent breath, praying for continued patience. “Whichever you choose to tell me.”
Yazoo snorted again and rolled his eyes, leaning forward to prop his hands and lean on Vincent’s pectorals. “The beatings started when I was four…with a belt, and the rapes when I was seven.”
Vincent nodded, “And what would you have done, besides gotten yourself killed? Why do you think your mother took the beatings herself?” Vincent reached up and gently combed his fingers through Yazoo’s hair, “You did exactly what she wanted you to. You ask me what kind of a son you are? A beloved one, a precious one whose mother wanted to protect from all things evil in this world.”
A queer look passed over Yazoo’s face before he snorted and slid off Vincent, saying, “That’s what my therapists said. You’re just like the rest of them.”
Vincent didn’t reply as he watched Yazoo walk across the spacious bedroom to the large windows that looked out over the twinkling lights of the magnificent city of Midgar. Yazoo stood in front of the windows, arms hanging by his sides.
Vincent rolled onto his side, curling his arm under his head, and watched the young man. He watched the lights playing off of that unblemished white skin, illuminating it in the different colors of the city, and Vincent marveled, not for the first time since he’d come to know Yazoo, at the figure the young man possessed, and how, unlike himself, Yazoo wore his scars on the inside. He let his eyes wander over the long, smoke-silver hair that hung halfway down that smooth back, and he stared hungrily at the narrow shoulders that yielded into the leanly muscled arms. His gaze returned to travel down the line of Yazoo’s back to the young man’s tapered waist and the firm, tight buttocks that still glistened with Vincent’s seed. Yazoo was beautiful, and so very strong.
“I used to hear her,” Yazoo said in a small voice, a child’s voice coming from the throat of a man, “right before I fell asleep. I could hear her singing the lullaby that she used to, before…” Then those lean arms then came up to wrap around himself, “and when I’m in front of the mirror, I can see her standing behind me, pulling my hair back, and though I cannot hear her, her lips tell me that she is proud of me. Now, when I’m alone, all I can hear is weeping. Always weeping; I am afraid that I am going mad.” The smoky head shook back and forth, and the soft voice came stronger, “How do I make her go away, Vincent? I want it to stop. I want to forget.”
Vincent sighed and slid out of the bed to come up behind Yazoo, wrapping his strong arms around the slighter man from behind. Yazoo’s hands in turn came up to grip Vincent’s forearms as he leaned back into the gunman, resting that silver-haired head against Vincent’s shoulder. Yazoo let his head turn into Vincent’s neck and his eyes closed in response to the comfort that the other man brought by just holding him. They stood that way for a long while, Vincent gazing out the window, rubbing his cheek against the top of the other’s head; Yazoo lost to forgotten memories.
“They said it was a car wreck,” Yazoo finally said, his voice subdued and hypnotic, face still turned into Vincent’s neck, “that killed my parents. But I know the truth. I was there.” Yazoo stopped, and Vincent tightened his arms around his lover, both in reassurance and in an effort to coax the young man to continue. “I don’t remember why he was punishing me, perhaps it was for being born…” Yazoo laughed humorlessly, “He cursed that fact enough times when he used me. He had locked me in a closet for three days. I only know this because it was what they told me when they found me on the fourth, ‘catatonic from dehydration’, was what the medical report had read. But I remember lying there, in that cramped space, curled up. My face itched from the tears that had dried on it. It’s funny the things you remember.” Yazoo said distantly, before he continued in his childlike voice. “I remember hearing them argue, but it was different this time. Mother was yelling back. She was angry and glass was breaking. Their voices drew nearer, and she was screaming at him that she wouldn’t let him hurt me anymore. That we would leave, and go somewhere where he would never touch us again, and I felt so happy! It felt like a dream, and all I had to do was stay awake long enough to make it out of this closet, and then we would go away. But he was so mad, so mad that he was hardly saying anything. And he’s dangerous when he gets like that. I wanted to yell at her, warn her, but I couldn’t. I had gone without water for so long that I couldn’t even swallow, and my tongue was thick. I was mad with thirst! Then I heard a different scream. It was her scared scream, and it was right before I heard the gun…and then she didn’t scream anymore. Then I heard his footsteps come up to the door and stop. I could hear his breathing, and he said that I should ‘die in the dark; just as I had been conceived’…that I was beyond worthless, that I never had deserved to see the sun and that it was…my fault that I was so weak and useless and…my fault that she had died. Then I heard him walk away, and then the gun went off again, and I was alone.”
Yazoo turned in Vincent’s embrace and wrapped his arms around the gunslinger’s waist. Vincent rested his head against Yazoo’s after first kissing the young man’s temple. “That’s enough. You need not continue, Yazoo.”
Yazoo shook his head and said thickly, “No; I’ve begun and…strangely, with you, it doesn’t hurt as bad to remember. Please, I-I want to finish…I need to finish.”
Vincent nodded and buried his nose in the smoky hair, “If you wish, my Yazoo.”
Yazoo tightened his hold around Vincent’s waist, nuzzling into his neck before he continued. “I hardly remember when they came for me, only an incredibly bright light. I have to assume that was when the closet door was opened. What I remember next was waking up in the hospital. I was so tired, and…empty. I had looked to the side, and for a heartbeat I thought my mother was sitting beside my bed, so I held out my hand wanting to touch her. I called to her, but my throat was so thick, all I could do was whisper. But that woman was not mother. She saw me looking at her, and got up and left the room with her hand over her mouth. I figured that it was because she hated me, that I really was worthless and dirty like he had said. It wasn’t until later that I learned it was because I looked so much like mother, that it was difficult for her to look upon me.”
Vincent began rubbing Yazoo’s back when the young man began to shiver, feeling the gooseflesh rising up, “Yazoo,” he murmured.
“Just hold me Vincent.” Yazoo replied and brought his arms back around to rest, folded up, against Vincent’s chest, “I’m so cold…” Vincent once again tightened his hold upon the leaner body in his arms.
“They made me see a head doctor…a therapist, after that. They kept asking me what had happened, and I wouldn’t answer. If I had, he would have found out and been angry, so angry. It hadn’t occurred to me that he was dead, that they were both dead. So I remained quiet, only telling them that I didn’t remember, and kept asking for mother. They finally told me that she was dead, and that I was to live with my aunt and cousin now. I think that was when the darkness in me started, that black anger that even now refuses to go away. I don’t know how to make it go away, and it’s slowly eating me from the inside out.” Yazoo whispered, as his body shook with a fine trembling.
Vincent felt something wet on his neck and shoulder and pulled away, looking down at Yazoo. He touched Yazoo’s cheek, and brought away moisture on his fingers. Frowning, the silver-haired young man grabbed Vincent’s wrist and held it out where he could study it, then reached his other hand up to brush at his wet cheeks. He stared at the tears on his fingers in both confusion and surprise. The young man opened his mouth to speak, but Vincent caught those words with his lips, as he gently took Yazoo’s mouth in a slow kiss. Yazoo moaned into Vincent’s mouth, reaching his arms up and around the other man’s neck to press into the kiss, as Vincent’s tongue gently coaxed his lips to part and allow him entry.
Yazoo pulled back, panting lightly, “Fill me up, Vincent. Fill up this empty hole in my chest and make me warm again.” He kissed Vincent then, deeply, searchingly, “…I so want to be warm again.” He breathed. “But I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how.”
Without another word, Vincent scooped Yazoo up, bridal-style, and carried the younger man into the living room, his mouth devouring the other’s, where he laid the silver-haired man down tenderly upon the carpet in front of their slowly dying fire from earlier in the evening. With care, Vincent laid his larger body in the cradle Yazoo created with his spread legs and upraised knees, never once allowing their mouths to part for any longer than it took to steal a breath. With slow, erotic movements, Vincent reverently explored the body underneath him, one that had suffered so many long-ago abuses, and had somehow managed to survive.
Vincent reluctantly parted from Yazoo’s mesmerizing lips to trail kisses along his elegant jaw followed by a swirling, fiery trail with his tongue down that swan-like neck. Yazoo’s breathing began to quicken as he bit his lower lip, and lightly fisted his hands in Vincent’s hair, arching his back off the floor as he bared his throat. Vincent moaned, loving the feel of his hair being gently pulled as his open mouth traveled lower to capture one stiffened nipple with his lips. Nipping with teeth and flicking the hard nub with his tongue, Vincent’s hand traveled lower to wrap around Yazoo’s erect penis where he squeezed and stroked slowly, causing the other to groan, “Mmmm…yes…nnn-- Vincent, more.”
But he wasn’t finished yet, and so moved to affix attention to the neglected nipple, all the while maintaining a slow friction on Yazoo’s erection, lubricating the sensitive, straining organ with the freely flowing pre-cum.
Yazoo’s eyes had rolled back in his head at the intense stimulation delivered by this beautiful and rapturously sensual man. His body was alive with sensations: from the sharp little pleasure-pains delivered by Vincent’s perfect teeth on his nipples to the velvet-rough lap of the man’s tongue, to the calloused hand driving his nerve-endings wild with the slow pumping of his dick. Yazoo could feel the pressure gradually increasing, a tingling in his thighs and lower belly. He needed Vincent to go faster! Harder! But all he could choke out was “Vincent!” as his hips began to rock up into that talented hand.
With his senses filled dizzyingly with Yazoo’s scent, sight, feel and smooth voice, Vincent began to kiss and lick his way further down the other man’s body, pausing to lick around Yazoo’s navel and dip his tongue into it. He was rewarded by hearing the soft gasp, and feel the lean body writhe even more. He continued his journey down, tasting every inch of flesh with his tongue, leaving wet tracks behind to dry in the cool air, and awaken Yazoo’s flesh even more. He steadfastly avoided the erection straining for contact in favor of the white inner thigh. He concentrated on one spot, sucking, his eyes closed in divine delight. When he lifted his head, a red mark marred the perfect skin. He looked up at Yazoo and said, “I mark what is mine, Yazoo.” He returned to kissing Yazoo’s inner thighs, after every other kiss murmuring, “So perfect…every inch of you…so precious.”
Yazoo had lifted his head and looked down his heaving chest to the head of soft, tousled, obsidian hair that feasted between his raised knees. When Vincent looked up at him from under those thick black lashes with those red, bedroom eyes, Yazoo thought that if he had been any more aroused, he would have cum right then and there. But when Vincent had spoken, that deep, rough voice had sent little electric tingles dancing over his body making him shiver, and the fluid to push up his shaft to dribble onto his abdomen.
Yazoo groaned and let his head fall back to the floor, his hands, having relinquished their hold, stretching up over his head and searching for something to hold onto as an anchor. He had to hang on to something or he would fragment and fly apart. He had no idea sex could be so erotic and sensual. He spread his legs even farther apart in a clear plea, “Fuck me, Vincent…please!” He gasped between heaving breaths, “I can’t take this any more!”
“No.” Vincent replied looking up again.
“What?” Yazoo raised his head and gazed down at Vincent, startled.
“I’m not going to fuck you, Yazoo.” He replied leaning down to lave Yazoo’s testicles, which caused the other to drop his head back to the floor with a ‘thump’. God’s above, Vincent thought. He had never seen a more alluring or desirous sight than those flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, and it was taking every bit of his considerable control to keep from doing just what he had said that he wouldn’t do. “Your whole life, that is what people have done to you. Well…I am not one of those people, Yazoo. I am going to make love to you. I am going to prove to you just how special you are…” With that, he used the hand that had never left Yazoo’s penis to hold it steady while with one long, firm lick up the underside of the organ, Vincent dropped his mouth all the way to base of the shaft.
With a somewhat surprised gasp followed by a choked cry, Yazoo’s back arched up off of the floor. He hadn’t believed Vincent’s words, as they held no meaning, but that distrust was blasted apart by the hot, wet mouth suctioning around the core of his desire. As Vincent pulled back, Yazoo could feel the head of his cock drag along the roof of the gunslinger’s mouth, and the pressure continued to build. Vincent lowered his dark head and brought it back up, and Yazoo could feel the hard scrape of white teeth along the tender skin, and the pressure continued to build. Over and over, faster and harder Vincent’s torturous mouth and skilled hand worked the pressure until with a cry Yazoo’s hips thrust up, only to be caught and held in Vincent’s hand’s as the gunman’s mouth welcomed Yazoo’s seed, and through suction coaxed the last drop of fluid from his body.
While still coming down from his orgasm, Vincent moved quickly up the long, lean body under him, and claimed Yazoo’s lips again, allowing the silver-haired man’s semen to flow back into the body from which it had come. Yazoo moaned, wrapping his arms around Vincent’s neck, eagerly opening his mouth to the gunman, sucking on the invading tongue, and swallowing the salty, slightly tangy liquid. Vincent pulled back, smiling sensuously, a tiny, gossamer strand of semen-laced saliva still connected their barely-parted lips as Vincent murmured in a husky voice, “Do you see how good you taste? That is only one gift of the many that comprise the man under me, Yazoo. Shall I show you more?”
“Yes!” Yazoo gasped, still dizzy, and his body still hypersensitive from his release.
Vincent kissed Yazoo again, his hand tracing down the younger man’s side, causing him to shiver, “Shall I show you how good you feel?”
“Gods, yes!” Yazoo groaned, “Vincent, show me everything!”
With a rumbling growl, Vincent caught one of Yazoo’s legs just behind the knee, and raised it up along his own side. Yazoo’s breath hitched in his throat as he felt the thick, broad head of Vincent’s penis begin pushing at his anus, requesting entry, and Yazoo eagerly relaxed, gasping as he felt that tight ring of muscle give way. With excruciating slowness, Vincent’s girth slid into his still-wet orifice, stretching and filling him with the delicious, burning pressure. Yazoo brought his other knee up, and he grunted as he felt Vincent slide into him until the man’s pelvis pushed against his buttocks. Yazoo’s breathing came in heavy pants, interspersed with a held breath, as his body grew accustomed to the invasion. He moaned and bit his lip as his arms came up around Vincent’s torso and he held his dark-haired lover to him.
A small whimpering moan eased out of Yazoo’s throat as Vincent began to retreat and push back in, in a slow and steady rhythm. Yazoo closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of Vincent’s erection sliding along his channel, and when in one scooping thrust from the other man, which caused a rough grating against his prostate, Yazoo cried out and grasped Vincent’s buttocks roughly. “Shiva!” Yazoo gasped, “Do that again!”
With a seductive chuckle, Vincent obliged again and again, causing Yazoo’s senses to swim and his body to writhe. Each thrust into his body would bump up his tension, shorten the distance to orgasm, while conversely each withdrawal eased him back down, even while the whole process continued its torturous journey to release. It was an excruciating tug of war with the pleasure receptors in his brain and body, and Yazoo didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up before his mind short-circuited permanently.
When Vincent had heard Yazoo gasp a second time and murmured his request for more, he had pulled back up onto his arm to look down at his lover’s face, even as his own body continued its maddeningly slow thrusting. Fascinated, Vincent watched the pleasure drift across Yazoo’s face; from the flushed cheeks to the kiss-swollen lips and the heavy-lidded, dilated green eyes made nearly black with desire…the young man enthralled him with his sensuality. Yazoo’s lips parted as he panted, and Vincent felt the other man’s fingers at his lips. Without prompting, he opened his mouth and drew two of them in, sucking on them just as he had Yazoo’s cock just a moment before. He swirled his tongue around the tips of those long fingers, moaning as they explored his mouth, and fought a surge in his own lust when Yazoo answered him with a moan of his own. Vincent nibbled down the digits until once again they were buried deep into the wetness of his mouth where he created suction, and let his eyes drift closed in rapture once again.
When Yazoo’s fingers left his mouth, Vincent dropped his head back down alongside the young man’s neck where he nipped and suckled, calling up another red mark upon that white skin. It was getting increasingly difficult to control his body’s quest for its own pleasure, and he was so focused upon going slowly and seeing to Yazoo’s needs. He only became aware of the fingers in his ass after an electric spike of pleasure raced up his spine and through his engorged penis as those crafty fingers found his own prostate. Crying out, Vincent thrust once, hard, wringing a mewling keen from Yazoo’s throat from underneath him, “Gods!” Was all his could manage as he bent to capture Yazoo’s lips again in a devouring kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into the other man’s mouth, staking a claim of ownership and dominance. His body began to shudder at the brink of loss of control as Yazoo’s fingers continued thrusting into his ass in a rhythm that matched his own, expertly striking that small bundle of nerves each and every time, taunting him, teasing him, daring him to lose it.
Finally, he could take no more and rasped into Yazoo’s ear, “Please, Yazoo…let me…”
Hearing the plaintive begging in that deep voice nearly made him cum. Vincent was asking his permission to let his body go, and that realization only made Yazoo love the man more. Burying his fingers into the thick ebony hair of his lover, Yazoo gasped and growled, “Yes! Come in me…Ah!…Vincent, come inside me…now!”
With a sob of relief, Vincent braced himself on one arm and wrapped his free hand around Yazoo’s painfully hard erection, beginning a fast, jerking pace, even as his own hips began an abusive thrusting of their own. It took two hard shoves into the tight heat of Yazoo’s body to start his orgasm, the third triggered Yazoo’s, and three more to wring the seed from his body even as Yazoo spent his own onto his belly and into Vincent’s hand.
Their breathing was ragged and uneven, and their bodies quivered and twitched as their cocks began to soften. Vincent slid from Yazoo’s body and rolled onto his back next to his lover, staring at the dancing shadows thrown up by the fire onto the ceiling. “And that is how you feel…though it is a weak example at best.” He mumbled, resting a hand on his stomach.
“I don’t know; it felt pretty amazing to me.” Yazoo said breathily, as he too stared dazedly at the ceiling. “I had no idea sex could feel like that…”
“It only does if you are with someone who holds your heart closer to him than his own.” Vincent replied as he rolled over toward Yazoo and lazily began licking the semen from Yazoo’s belly, even as Yazoo reached for Vincent’s hand to lave it clean as well.
Finally, when the mess was cleaned up and they were only indulging in their own private pleasures of tasting the other, Vincent pulled Yazoo’s body against his own. He twisted at the waist and stretched until he could just reach two of the throw pillows on the couch. He grabbed them, and situated them both comfortably on the carpet, facing the fire. He wrapped one arm around Yazoo’s chest and shoved the other under his pillow, while he nudged one thigh in-between Yazoo’s. They lay that way for a while, wrapped in the physical warmth from the fire and the emotional warmth from each other, Vincent’s eyes were shut half-way and glazed as he began to drift off until Yazoo’s voice brought him back and focused once again.
To Part II and the conclusion of Tattered Photographs
Author: calvi_sama
Summary: Vincent had always wondered about Yazoo’s (unknown) past and what had happed to make the man he had come to know the way he was, but had never directly pursued it. Tonight, after sex, Yazoo decides to share, and through his modified body, Vincent witnesses the horrors, and has to convince his lover of his own worth.
Rating: NC-17/M
Pairing: Vincent x Yazoo
Disclaimer: I do not in any way own, or profit from, the FFVII characters - If I did I wouldn’t do this to them.
Warnings: **child abuse/rape**, all things yaoi, some emotional fluffy-type stuff, and some character OOC'ness…please, if these warnings are upsetting to you, then do not read this. It is not my intention to cause discomfort or offense!
A special ‘thank you’ is extended to my beta for not only having to deal with my inability to punctuate properly, but helping me with word selection!
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They lay together, sweaty and sated, in twisted black satin sheets. The only sounds in the room were the ticking of the wall clock, the hypnotic ‘swishing’ of the ceiling fan and their ragged breathing.
“Loz tells me that you’ve been making some…discreet inquires about my past, Vincent.” Yazoo said absently to the ceiling, fingers running in idle, light circles over one of his erect nipples.
There was a soft rustling as Vincent rolled his head to the side in order to watch his lover’s face, “This is true.” He replied, though he need not have.
“Do you wish to know it then?”
“If I am to enter into a relationship with a person, then yes, I wish to know all that I can about them.”
“A person,” Yazoo said sarcastically, not bothering to look at Vincent.
He sighed patiently, “You know what I meant, Yazoo.”
“Well, Gods forbid there be any misinformation between us, Vincent.” Yazoo replied wryly.
“Yazoo, why are you being like this?”
Now Yazoo’s head swiveled to meet Vincent’s red stare. “If we are to be in a relationship, then a partner must learn to ask his lover questions, and not go behind his back to his cousin.”
Vincent nodded, breaking eye contact to stare at the ceiling as Yazoo had done, “I deserved that. You are, of course, right.”
Yazoo remained silent, watching Vincent and waiting, and it took Vincent a moment to catch on to the meaning of the bright green stare. He looked back over to his lover and asked bluntly, “What happened to you?”
Yazoo nodded, “Not so hard, was it?” Yazoo rolled over onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. “My father was abusive. When he wasn’t drinking and beating one of us, he was blaming my mother for how I turned out and drilling into my head the impropriety of relationships with men.” He snorted dryly at the irony of the current circumstances.
“How did you come to live with Loz, then?” He asked with mild curiosity.
“What, did Loz not tell you?” Yazoo asked irritably.
“No, as you knew that he would not.”
“Yes, Loz is nothing if not fiercely loyal to his family.” Yazoo said faintly, “Both of my parents died when I was ten. Loz and his mother took me in and raised me the rest of the way.”
“I see,” Vincent replied impassively.
“What do you know about it!?” Yazoo hissed, suddenly and without warning, rolling on top of Vincent, to straddle his hips, and pin the gunslinger’s arms over his head. “You were not there! You never had to listen to the yelling, the screaming and weeping, the begging for mercy. You never had your body violated over and over, night after night until it was torn and bleeding as your own tears made it impossible to breathe. So don’t tell me you understand!”
Vincent blinked in surprise at Yazoo’s sudden, seemingly random and vehement outburst. His body tensed at the sudden restraint, but he forced his muscles to relax, remaining pinned as he watched the emotion glisten in the green eyes above him. Yazoo’s face betrayed no feeling, but his eyes were awash with heart-wrenching pain. Vincent carefully schooled his face into neutrality.
“I didn’t say I understood, Yazoo.” Vincent said carefully.
Yazoo remained still as stone, and just as unreadable.
Gently Vincent raised one hand to rest upon Yazoo’s cheek, which Yazoo promptly smacked away. Undeterred, Vincent replaced it. This time Yazoo allowed it, and Vincent stroked the soft, white skin just under that shimmering jade-colored eye. With a jolt that felt like an electric shock, Vincent felt fragmented emotion come streaming into his mind: shame, horror, pain, revulsion…and they were all directed at Yazoo. But the worst part were the broken memories from a little boy, like tattered, old photographs of memories that were better left forgotten, but were doomed to remain branded upon the mind in which they dwelled.
He looked out of wide, terrified eyes as he saw his mother backhanded into a wall, while he huddled under a table, painfully skinny arms wrapped around equally skinny knees, as he bit through his lip in an attempt to remain quiet.
He flinched with each kick to his mother’s curled body as tears streamed, unchecked, down his hollow cheeks.
He felt the confusion and panic as he petted the matted, bloody hair of his mother, as he huddled next to her broken body while he waited for her wake up and tell him what to do.
He screamed in pain as a pot of boiling water was flung on him.
He starved quietly in utter darkness while he cried, desperately trying to be quiet so he wouldn’t come and beat him again with his belt, or Gods save him the fireplace poker again.
He lay curled up in his bed, blankets wound around his body and wedged nearly in between the bed and the wall, trembling and desperately clutching his ratty, frayed old stuffy as though trying to use it a shield. Sheer terror filled his body, making him wet his sheets as he heard the door to his room open and a heavy footfall come striding over to his bed. He flinched as his blankets were wrenched from around him and flung to the floor. He whimpered as he tried to scramble away but cried out when a heavy, rough hand closed around his ankle and dragged him back on his belly. He couldn’t stop the tears and he struggled and kicked out as his sleep-pants were brutally ripped from his bony hips and his hair was grabbed, wrenching his head back. He screamed when he forced his body into his smaller one…over and over the screams kept coming until there was nothing left, and he was rendered into blessed unconsciousness, his blood staining yet another set of urine-soaked sheets.
And in the background he heard a woman weeping…
With a jerk, Vincent pulled his hand away, swallowing hard as bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t speak as he looked at Yazoo. The beautiful young man above him watched him through haunted eyes. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t be condescending or patronizing but…
Vincent breathed sadly, “What I’m saying now, is that it is not your fault.”
Yazoo watched Vincent impassively as those red eyes had changed to gold when he had touched him, and then just as quickly back to red. They were sad, but there was something else there that Yazoo couldn’t place. He snorted and leaned down until their faces were only inches apart, his lips hovering over Vincent’s, “But yes it is, Vincent. Don’t you see?” Yazoo nuzzled Vincent’s cheek, nipping along the gunslinger’s jaw as his hips ground down in slow, seductive circles.
Vincent gritted his teeth as his body began to respond. He absolutely refused to play this little game. “How in Gaia’s name is it your fault, Yazoo?” he gasped, and grabbed Yazoo’s hand when it began to stroke his hardening cock. He scowled darkly at the young man.
Yazoo pouted sarcastically, “What kind of a son would allow his mother to be beaten up every night? What kind of a son,” he spat the word as though he hated it, “would hide in a closet, pissing his pants while the only person who ever loved him was begging for mercy?”
Vincent went still, and when he asked, his voice was soft and deep, “How old were you Yazoo?”
“What, when he started raping me? Or when the beatings began?” Yazoo said sardonically.
Vincent let out a silent breath, praying for continued patience. “Whichever you choose to tell me.”
Yazoo snorted again and rolled his eyes, leaning forward to prop his hands and lean on Vincent’s pectorals. “The beatings started when I was four…with a belt, and the rapes when I was seven.”
Vincent nodded, “And what would you have done, besides gotten yourself killed? Why do you think your mother took the beatings herself?” Vincent reached up and gently combed his fingers through Yazoo’s hair, “You did exactly what she wanted you to. You ask me what kind of a son you are? A beloved one, a precious one whose mother wanted to protect from all things evil in this world.”
A queer look passed over Yazoo’s face before he snorted and slid off Vincent, saying, “That’s what my therapists said. You’re just like the rest of them.”
Vincent didn’t reply as he watched Yazoo walk across the spacious bedroom to the large windows that looked out over the twinkling lights of the magnificent city of Midgar. Yazoo stood in front of the windows, arms hanging by his sides.
Vincent rolled onto his side, curling his arm under his head, and watched the young man. He watched the lights playing off of that unblemished white skin, illuminating it in the different colors of the city, and Vincent marveled, not for the first time since he’d come to know Yazoo, at the figure the young man possessed, and how, unlike himself, Yazoo wore his scars on the inside. He let his eyes wander over the long, smoke-silver hair that hung halfway down that smooth back, and he stared hungrily at the narrow shoulders that yielded into the leanly muscled arms. His gaze returned to travel down the line of Yazoo’s back to the young man’s tapered waist and the firm, tight buttocks that still glistened with Vincent’s seed. Yazoo was beautiful, and so very strong.
“I used to hear her,” Yazoo said in a small voice, a child’s voice coming from the throat of a man, “right before I fell asleep. I could hear her singing the lullaby that she used to, before…” Then those lean arms then came up to wrap around himself, “and when I’m in front of the mirror, I can see her standing behind me, pulling my hair back, and though I cannot hear her, her lips tell me that she is proud of me. Now, when I’m alone, all I can hear is weeping. Always weeping; I am afraid that I am going mad.” The smoky head shook back and forth, and the soft voice came stronger, “How do I make her go away, Vincent? I want it to stop. I want to forget.”
Vincent sighed and slid out of the bed to come up behind Yazoo, wrapping his strong arms around the slighter man from behind. Yazoo’s hands in turn came up to grip Vincent’s forearms as he leaned back into the gunman, resting that silver-haired head against Vincent’s shoulder. Yazoo let his head turn into Vincent’s neck and his eyes closed in response to the comfort that the other man brought by just holding him. They stood that way for a long while, Vincent gazing out the window, rubbing his cheek against the top of the other’s head; Yazoo lost to forgotten memories.
“They said it was a car wreck,” Yazoo finally said, his voice subdued and hypnotic, face still turned into Vincent’s neck, “that killed my parents. But I know the truth. I was there.” Yazoo stopped, and Vincent tightened his arms around his lover, both in reassurance and in an effort to coax the young man to continue. “I don’t remember why he was punishing me, perhaps it was for being born…” Yazoo laughed humorlessly, “He cursed that fact enough times when he used me. He had locked me in a closet for three days. I only know this because it was what they told me when they found me on the fourth, ‘catatonic from dehydration’, was what the medical report had read. But I remember lying there, in that cramped space, curled up. My face itched from the tears that had dried on it. It’s funny the things you remember.” Yazoo said distantly, before he continued in his childlike voice. “I remember hearing them argue, but it was different this time. Mother was yelling back. She was angry and glass was breaking. Their voices drew nearer, and she was screaming at him that she wouldn’t let him hurt me anymore. That we would leave, and go somewhere where he would never touch us again, and I felt so happy! It felt like a dream, and all I had to do was stay awake long enough to make it out of this closet, and then we would go away. But he was so mad, so mad that he was hardly saying anything. And he’s dangerous when he gets like that. I wanted to yell at her, warn her, but I couldn’t. I had gone without water for so long that I couldn’t even swallow, and my tongue was thick. I was mad with thirst! Then I heard a different scream. It was her scared scream, and it was right before I heard the gun…and then she didn’t scream anymore. Then I heard his footsteps come up to the door and stop. I could hear his breathing, and he said that I should ‘die in the dark; just as I had been conceived’…that I was beyond worthless, that I never had deserved to see the sun and that it was…my fault that I was so weak and useless and…my fault that she had died. Then I heard him walk away, and then the gun went off again, and I was alone.”
Yazoo turned in Vincent’s embrace and wrapped his arms around the gunslinger’s waist. Vincent rested his head against Yazoo’s after first kissing the young man’s temple. “That’s enough. You need not continue, Yazoo.”
Yazoo shook his head and said thickly, “No; I’ve begun and…strangely, with you, it doesn’t hurt as bad to remember. Please, I-I want to finish…I need to finish.”
Vincent nodded and buried his nose in the smoky hair, “If you wish, my Yazoo.”
Yazoo tightened his hold around Vincent’s waist, nuzzling into his neck before he continued. “I hardly remember when they came for me, only an incredibly bright light. I have to assume that was when the closet door was opened. What I remember next was waking up in the hospital. I was so tired, and…empty. I had looked to the side, and for a heartbeat I thought my mother was sitting beside my bed, so I held out my hand wanting to touch her. I called to her, but my throat was so thick, all I could do was whisper. But that woman was not mother. She saw me looking at her, and got up and left the room with her hand over her mouth. I figured that it was because she hated me, that I really was worthless and dirty like he had said. It wasn’t until later that I learned it was because I looked so much like mother, that it was difficult for her to look upon me.”
Vincent began rubbing Yazoo’s back when the young man began to shiver, feeling the gooseflesh rising up, “Yazoo,” he murmured.
“Just hold me Vincent.” Yazoo replied and brought his arms back around to rest, folded up, against Vincent’s chest, “I’m so cold…” Vincent once again tightened his hold upon the leaner body in his arms.
“They made me see a head doctor…a therapist, after that. They kept asking me what had happened, and I wouldn’t answer. If I had, he would have found out and been angry, so angry. It hadn’t occurred to me that he was dead, that they were both dead. So I remained quiet, only telling them that I didn’t remember, and kept asking for mother. They finally told me that she was dead, and that I was to live with my aunt and cousin now. I think that was when the darkness in me started, that black anger that even now refuses to go away. I don’t know how to make it go away, and it’s slowly eating me from the inside out.” Yazoo whispered, as his body shook with a fine trembling.
Vincent felt something wet on his neck and shoulder and pulled away, looking down at Yazoo. He touched Yazoo’s cheek, and brought away moisture on his fingers. Frowning, the silver-haired young man grabbed Vincent’s wrist and held it out where he could study it, then reached his other hand up to brush at his wet cheeks. He stared at the tears on his fingers in both confusion and surprise. The young man opened his mouth to speak, but Vincent caught those words with his lips, as he gently took Yazoo’s mouth in a slow kiss. Yazoo moaned into Vincent’s mouth, reaching his arms up and around the other man’s neck to press into the kiss, as Vincent’s tongue gently coaxed his lips to part and allow him entry.
Yazoo pulled back, panting lightly, “Fill me up, Vincent. Fill up this empty hole in my chest and make me warm again.” He kissed Vincent then, deeply, searchingly, “…I so want to be warm again.” He breathed. “But I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how.”
Without another word, Vincent scooped Yazoo up, bridal-style, and carried the younger man into the living room, his mouth devouring the other’s, where he laid the silver-haired man down tenderly upon the carpet in front of their slowly dying fire from earlier in the evening. With care, Vincent laid his larger body in the cradle Yazoo created with his spread legs and upraised knees, never once allowing their mouths to part for any longer than it took to steal a breath. With slow, erotic movements, Vincent reverently explored the body underneath him, one that had suffered so many long-ago abuses, and had somehow managed to survive.
Vincent reluctantly parted from Yazoo’s mesmerizing lips to trail kisses along his elegant jaw followed by a swirling, fiery trail with his tongue down that swan-like neck. Yazoo’s breathing began to quicken as he bit his lower lip, and lightly fisted his hands in Vincent’s hair, arching his back off the floor as he bared his throat. Vincent moaned, loving the feel of his hair being gently pulled as his open mouth traveled lower to capture one stiffened nipple with his lips. Nipping with teeth and flicking the hard nub with his tongue, Vincent’s hand traveled lower to wrap around Yazoo’s erect penis where he squeezed and stroked slowly, causing the other to groan, “Mmmm…yes…nnn-- Vincent, more.”
But he wasn’t finished yet, and so moved to affix attention to the neglected nipple, all the while maintaining a slow friction on Yazoo’s erection, lubricating the sensitive, straining organ with the freely flowing pre-cum.
Yazoo’s eyes had rolled back in his head at the intense stimulation delivered by this beautiful and rapturously sensual man. His body was alive with sensations: from the sharp little pleasure-pains delivered by Vincent’s perfect teeth on his nipples to the velvet-rough lap of the man’s tongue, to the calloused hand driving his nerve-endings wild with the slow pumping of his dick. Yazoo could feel the pressure gradually increasing, a tingling in his thighs and lower belly. He needed Vincent to go faster! Harder! But all he could choke out was “Vincent!” as his hips began to rock up into that talented hand.
With his senses filled dizzyingly with Yazoo’s scent, sight, feel and smooth voice, Vincent began to kiss and lick his way further down the other man’s body, pausing to lick around Yazoo’s navel and dip his tongue into it. He was rewarded by hearing the soft gasp, and feel the lean body writhe even more. He continued his journey down, tasting every inch of flesh with his tongue, leaving wet tracks behind to dry in the cool air, and awaken Yazoo’s flesh even more. He steadfastly avoided the erection straining for contact in favor of the white inner thigh. He concentrated on one spot, sucking, his eyes closed in divine delight. When he lifted his head, a red mark marred the perfect skin. He looked up at Yazoo and said, “I mark what is mine, Yazoo.” He returned to kissing Yazoo’s inner thighs, after every other kiss murmuring, “So perfect…every inch of you…so precious.”
Yazoo had lifted his head and looked down his heaving chest to the head of soft, tousled, obsidian hair that feasted between his raised knees. When Vincent looked up at him from under those thick black lashes with those red, bedroom eyes, Yazoo thought that if he had been any more aroused, he would have cum right then and there. But when Vincent had spoken, that deep, rough voice had sent little electric tingles dancing over his body making him shiver, and the fluid to push up his shaft to dribble onto his abdomen.
Yazoo groaned and let his head fall back to the floor, his hands, having relinquished their hold, stretching up over his head and searching for something to hold onto as an anchor. He had to hang on to something or he would fragment and fly apart. He had no idea sex could be so erotic and sensual. He spread his legs even farther apart in a clear plea, “Fuck me, Vincent…please!” He gasped between heaving breaths, “I can’t take this any more!”
“No.” Vincent replied looking up again.
“What?” Yazoo raised his head and gazed down at Vincent, startled.
“I’m not going to fuck you, Yazoo.” He replied leaning down to lave Yazoo’s testicles, which caused the other to drop his head back to the floor with a ‘thump’. God’s above, Vincent thought. He had never seen a more alluring or desirous sight than those flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, and it was taking every bit of his considerable control to keep from doing just what he had said that he wouldn’t do. “Your whole life, that is what people have done to you. Well…I am not one of those people, Yazoo. I am going to make love to you. I am going to prove to you just how special you are…” With that, he used the hand that had never left Yazoo’s penis to hold it steady while with one long, firm lick up the underside of the organ, Vincent dropped his mouth all the way to base of the shaft.
With a somewhat surprised gasp followed by a choked cry, Yazoo’s back arched up off of the floor. He hadn’t believed Vincent’s words, as they held no meaning, but that distrust was blasted apart by the hot, wet mouth suctioning around the core of his desire. As Vincent pulled back, Yazoo could feel the head of his cock drag along the roof of the gunslinger’s mouth, and the pressure continued to build. Vincent lowered his dark head and brought it back up, and Yazoo could feel the hard scrape of white teeth along the tender skin, and the pressure continued to build. Over and over, faster and harder Vincent’s torturous mouth and skilled hand worked the pressure until with a cry Yazoo’s hips thrust up, only to be caught and held in Vincent’s hand’s as the gunman’s mouth welcomed Yazoo’s seed, and through suction coaxed the last drop of fluid from his body.
While still coming down from his orgasm, Vincent moved quickly up the long, lean body under him, and claimed Yazoo’s lips again, allowing the silver-haired man’s semen to flow back into the body from which it had come. Yazoo moaned, wrapping his arms around Vincent’s neck, eagerly opening his mouth to the gunman, sucking on the invading tongue, and swallowing the salty, slightly tangy liquid. Vincent pulled back, smiling sensuously, a tiny, gossamer strand of semen-laced saliva still connected their barely-parted lips as Vincent murmured in a husky voice, “Do you see how good you taste? That is only one gift of the many that comprise the man under me, Yazoo. Shall I show you more?”
“Yes!” Yazoo gasped, still dizzy, and his body still hypersensitive from his release.
Vincent kissed Yazoo again, his hand tracing down the younger man’s side, causing him to shiver, “Shall I show you how good you feel?”
“Gods, yes!” Yazoo groaned, “Vincent, show me everything!”
With a rumbling growl, Vincent caught one of Yazoo’s legs just behind the knee, and raised it up along his own side. Yazoo’s breath hitched in his throat as he felt the thick, broad head of Vincent’s penis begin pushing at his anus, requesting entry, and Yazoo eagerly relaxed, gasping as he felt that tight ring of muscle give way. With excruciating slowness, Vincent’s girth slid into his still-wet orifice, stretching and filling him with the delicious, burning pressure. Yazoo brought his other knee up, and he grunted as he felt Vincent slide into him until the man’s pelvis pushed against his buttocks. Yazoo’s breathing came in heavy pants, interspersed with a held breath, as his body grew accustomed to the invasion. He moaned and bit his lip as his arms came up around Vincent’s torso and he held his dark-haired lover to him.
A small whimpering moan eased out of Yazoo’s throat as Vincent began to retreat and push back in, in a slow and steady rhythm. Yazoo closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of Vincent’s erection sliding along his channel, and when in one scooping thrust from the other man, which caused a rough grating against his prostate, Yazoo cried out and grasped Vincent’s buttocks roughly. “Shiva!” Yazoo gasped, “Do that again!”
With a seductive chuckle, Vincent obliged again and again, causing Yazoo’s senses to swim and his body to writhe. Each thrust into his body would bump up his tension, shorten the distance to orgasm, while conversely each withdrawal eased him back down, even while the whole process continued its torturous journey to release. It was an excruciating tug of war with the pleasure receptors in his brain and body, and Yazoo didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up before his mind short-circuited permanently.
When Vincent had heard Yazoo gasp a second time and murmured his request for more, he had pulled back up onto his arm to look down at his lover’s face, even as his own body continued its maddeningly slow thrusting. Fascinated, Vincent watched the pleasure drift across Yazoo’s face; from the flushed cheeks to the kiss-swollen lips and the heavy-lidded, dilated green eyes made nearly black with desire…the young man enthralled him with his sensuality. Yazoo’s lips parted as he panted, and Vincent felt the other man’s fingers at his lips. Without prompting, he opened his mouth and drew two of them in, sucking on them just as he had Yazoo’s cock just a moment before. He swirled his tongue around the tips of those long fingers, moaning as they explored his mouth, and fought a surge in his own lust when Yazoo answered him with a moan of his own. Vincent nibbled down the digits until once again they were buried deep into the wetness of his mouth where he created suction, and let his eyes drift closed in rapture once again.
When Yazoo’s fingers left his mouth, Vincent dropped his head back down alongside the young man’s neck where he nipped and suckled, calling up another red mark upon that white skin. It was getting increasingly difficult to control his body’s quest for its own pleasure, and he was so focused upon going slowly and seeing to Yazoo’s needs. He only became aware of the fingers in his ass after an electric spike of pleasure raced up his spine and through his engorged penis as those crafty fingers found his own prostate. Crying out, Vincent thrust once, hard, wringing a mewling keen from Yazoo’s throat from underneath him, “Gods!” Was all his could manage as he bent to capture Yazoo’s lips again in a devouring kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into the other man’s mouth, staking a claim of ownership and dominance. His body began to shudder at the brink of loss of control as Yazoo’s fingers continued thrusting into his ass in a rhythm that matched his own, expertly striking that small bundle of nerves each and every time, taunting him, teasing him, daring him to lose it.
Finally, he could take no more and rasped into Yazoo’s ear, “Please, Yazoo…let me…”
Hearing the plaintive begging in that deep voice nearly made him cum. Vincent was asking his permission to let his body go, and that realization only made Yazoo love the man more. Burying his fingers into the thick ebony hair of his lover, Yazoo gasped and growled, “Yes! Come in me…Ah!…Vincent, come inside me…now!”
With a sob of relief, Vincent braced himself on one arm and wrapped his free hand around Yazoo’s painfully hard erection, beginning a fast, jerking pace, even as his own hips began an abusive thrusting of their own. It took two hard shoves into the tight heat of Yazoo’s body to start his orgasm, the third triggered Yazoo’s, and three more to wring the seed from his body even as Yazoo spent his own onto his belly and into Vincent’s hand.
Their breathing was ragged and uneven, and their bodies quivered and twitched as their cocks began to soften. Vincent slid from Yazoo’s body and rolled onto his back next to his lover, staring at the dancing shadows thrown up by the fire onto the ceiling. “And that is how you feel…though it is a weak example at best.” He mumbled, resting a hand on his stomach.
“I don’t know; it felt pretty amazing to me.” Yazoo said breathily, as he too stared dazedly at the ceiling. “I had no idea sex could feel like that…”
“It only does if you are with someone who holds your heart closer to him than his own.” Vincent replied as he rolled over toward Yazoo and lazily began licking the semen from Yazoo’s belly, even as Yazoo reached for Vincent’s hand to lave it clean as well.
Finally, when the mess was cleaned up and they were only indulging in their own private pleasures of tasting the other, Vincent pulled Yazoo’s body against his own. He twisted at the waist and stretched until he could just reach two of the throw pillows on the couch. He grabbed them, and situated them both comfortably on the carpet, facing the fire. He wrapped one arm around Yazoo’s chest and shoved the other under his pillow, while he nudged one thigh in-between Yazoo’s. They lay that way for a while, wrapped in the physical warmth from the fire and the emotional warmth from each other, Vincent’s eyes were shut half-way and glazed as he began to drift off until Yazoo’s voice brought him back and focused once again.
To Part II and the conclusion of Tattered Photographs