Prelude To Perfection - Part VI
Title: Prelude To Perfection (Part VI)
Author: silence_laughs and calvi_sama
Summary: What do you do when the one you want the most in the world is right in front of you, but doesn't yet share that desire? The persistence and patience of one man will be sorely tried; will Cid achieve his heart's desire? Will Vincent ever be free?
Rating: NC-17 (finally! XD)
Pairing: Cid x Vincent
Timeline: FFVII canon - on their way to intercept Meteor, but with a slightly more relaxed schedule to account for Jenova taking sightseeing tours. XD
Disclaimer: We do not in any way own, nor profit from, the FFVII characters - we're just borrowing them. Avatar art is by (the amazing) Spade.
Warnings: Yaoi, verily and truely. You don't like two men having sex, then -duh- don't read it! *laughs*
A/N: Silence still has Cid's back (he's sure to keep a wary eye on her - you should see his face) and yours truly is still trying to get Vincent to cooperate (I’ve finally gotten him listening to me, when he’s not sidetracked watching The Weather Channel that is^^). Please Read: Right! *huffs* okay, so you all have been patient, reading though Parts I through V, and here it is. If you are anything like me then you're going "Yay! Payoff!" XDDD. But seriously, this moment has been long in building up and I hope I did Vincent justice. I feel the need to explain that he's continuing to deal with his insecurities - 'cause lets face if folks you don't just shuck those after thirty years - he shows them more openly and who can you show them to but the one person you trust most in the world? Eh, but anyway, I'm rambling, forgive me...be gentle! ^^
Part VI
They had all met as Cloud had requested, on the bridge, and the mood was a somber one. Vincent had hung back, half in the shadows, and arms crossed over his chest. He had watched Cloud, emotionless and cold, not even looking over at Cid who appeared to be just as sober. We’re all fighting for ourselves, Vincent thought, echoing Cloud’s words. That seems like such an empty and selfish reason, but it’s true, isn’t it? They all stood around for a moment more before drifting off to go their separate ways. Vincent found himself wandering out onto the deck again, feeling very lonely and very reluctant to think about the future, so his never idle mind zeroed in on the past…
Find your reasons for fighting, Cloud had told them. Cid had his reason, but did not know how to reach him. He knew where he would be, of course, but had no idea if he would be allowed to speak with him today. He wanted to take the chance; to go to him and hold him, promise it would be okay, and all those other things a lover would do. Vincent didn’t want a lover; he wanted a friend. Cid was sure he could do that, if he really applied himself. But…he didn’t want to apply himself. It was selfish, he knew, but he couldn’t help what he wanted. Ending the debate quickly (and unfairly), he retreated to his rooms to brood over any stray topic he could catch. If Vincent wanted to see him, he could come here. He sat on his couch with his arms crossed and his toes tapping for all of five minutes before sighing heavily and heading for the deck.
Her apology swam around in his mind, echoing meaninglessly and giving way to pain and Hojo’s laughter. A slow anger was lit in his belly when he thought of all that deranged lunatic had done to so many people. Sephiroth, Hojo, the names were nearly interchangeable but for the fact that it was his fault that the former had lost his mind…had been allowed to be created in the first place. He smelled cigarette smoke and half turned, smiling wanly as Cid came up to stand by his side. “I am glad you are here, Cid. My mind troubles me, and I would have you distract it.”
“That makes two of us, then, don’t it?” He made sure not to bring the cigarette too close to Vincent, choosing to stand by silently until it was done. Once he had crushed it beneath his foot, he moved closer, slipping an arm around his friend’s waist and letting his head fall against the shoulder so perfectly within reach before realizing that he was standing on Vincent’s left side. It didn’t matter to him, but he worried a little that it might make the gunman uncomfortable. Only a little, though, and not enough to bother him to move. “You know standin’ here makes you sad. Come on; let’s go have a drink. I think we need a laugh tonight. Unless you had somethin’ else in mind?” he asked, remembering the distinct way Vincent had formed his request/demand.
Vincent unconsciously leaned into Cid and shook his head, “No, nothing comes to mind other than the desire to not think about what tomorrow may bring. I’ll join you for that drink. Do you have any more of that wine we had last night? I rather enjoyed that…” Vincent trailed off. That was the closest he had ever come to rambling, short as it was, and he just wanted to get away from his destiny at the moment. “Laughter is good; I’m glad you showed me how to do so again, Cid.” They turned as one and Vincent drifted to walk little behind and to the side of Cid as they made their way to the Captain’s Quarters. Once inside, Vincent automatically removed his gauntlet, glove, and mantle, not even thinking about it anymore. He felt troubled and wasn’t sure why.
Cid did have some wine left, and filled a glass for each of them. He brought them to the coffee table in front of the couch and snatched one of the pillows resting on the end opposite of where he was sitting. He clutched it against his chest for no reason he could find. Vincent settled next to him and took a glass, sipping it in that accidentally delicate way he had. Cid could only watch. Gradually, he became accustomed again to Vincent’s proximity. When Vincent next lowered the drink from his lips, Cid tossed the pillow to the floor and tugged on Vincent’s arm.
Startled, Vincent looked at Cid. “Cid, what?”
Sighing, Cid shifted a bit and grabbed at Vincent’s shoulders instead, drawing him closer. “Let me hold ya a minute, Vin. Just a minute.” His eyes were almost pleading, though Vincent couldn’t see them. “I’ll let ya go if it makes ya uncomf’table, I promise.” Surely a warm, solid body would be more comforting than a pillow. Particularly Vincent’s body, the only one Cid wanted to be so close to.
Vincent wrapped his arms around Cid and held him, barely containing his surprise. The man was upset, more than he had ever seen, and that had him a little worried. He rested his cheek against the soft hair, awkwardly stroking it with one hand. “Cid,” he whispered, “what is it?” He pulled back and searched the man’s face for the answer. “Tell me what’s wrong?” He drew the pilot back into an embrace when the blond looked hesitant and almost…scared. “Cid, can you not talk to me?”
“What makes you think somethin’s wrong? Ain’t nothin’ wrong. Just…sit with me like this a minute, an’ then I’ll warm us up somethin’a eat.” His fingers combed through Vincent’s hair, and his eyes closed as an intense feeling of rightness settled over him. “Just don’t wanna feel lonely right now. This helps more’n anything. You feel that too?” He hoped so; it would give him a chance. It took all his self-restraint to keep the contact at this minimum. He wasn’t aroused; wasn’t even on the way, but his body craved more. He figured that was proof that this wasn’t just lust, and it only served to sadden him further. Look at you, Highwind. Pathetic. Y’finally find someone an’ fall for ‘im, an’ now…an’ now. Now. That was what they had, and he would be damned if he let it pass in dread and regret.
Vincent sighed. “Of course, Cid,” he said a little distantly then he murmured into the man’s ear, “it’ll be all right. I’ll make it be all right.” He didn’t care what Cid thought to that; he said it for himself as much as the other. So Vincent held him, stroking his back and enjoying the presence of the other before Cid huffed and heaved himself to his feet to go and warm up a meal. Vincent just sat there, head resting on the back of couch and wondered what hell was going on.
Cid did not feel like preparing a meal, so he reheated some of the roast he’d had for dinner a few days ago. It was simple, mild- almost tasteless, really- so Vincent would have nothing to complain about it. He was only stressed that their wine didn’t match with it. He sighed. So much for making everything perfect. “Gonna come eat, Vin?” Might be the last time you get to have dinner with me. “I promise this stuff won’t hurt.”
Vincent didn’t answer, instead, he started to sing. It wasn’t anything special. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even terribly good, but at least he could hold the pitch and keep the notes pure. It was a lullaby, a simple child’s song, and something his mother used to sing to him when he was scared. And somehow he felt he needed to sing it now:
Golden slumber kiss your eyes,
Smiles await you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty baby,
Do not cry,
And I'll sing you a lullaby.
Care you know not,
Therefore sleep,
While I o'er you watch do keep.
Sleep, pretty darling,
Do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
He turned his head and grinned at Cid, “Sorry, Cid. My mother used to sing that to me. I don’t know why I thought of it just now, but…” he trailed off and shrugged. Feeling a little more light-hearted, he asked teasingly, “What’s for dinner? Hopefully it won’t burn off the rest of the nerves in my mouth; I do not have many left.”
Cid smiled softly. “Momma used’a sing me that same one. Always thought she had a real nice voice. You do, too. To me, anyway. Come on; come sit with me. Don’t wanna eat alone.” He went back to the couch, took his hands, and hauled him to his feet. Halfway back to the kitchen, he stopped and just looked at him. “Ya don’t know how much ya help, Vincent,” he said, and hugged him close, leaving a kiss on the side of his neck when he pulled away. His lips tingled. “An’ I’m sure you’ve had this about a thousand times. Shouldn’t do you any harm.” After a few more steps, Cid saw that Vincent had taken notice of his old sketchbook and was looking curiously at it. He had only recently started using it again, but it had been with him for a long time. Almost all the pages were used, some on both sides. “Oh, that? Ya c’n look through it if ya want. Just don’t let those last few freak ya out too much.” Shouldn’t’a left it on the table, stupid.
Vincent smiled at Cid as he sat down at the table, spinning the sketchbook around so he could start flicking through the dog-eared pages. He was struck by how good the drawings were. There was one particular picture of a woman who kept recurring in different poses. He cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Who is this woman? There is something soft about her, kind and loving…” he trailed off and kept flipping. He wasn’t surprised to find multiple sketches - in varying stages of detail - of airships and rockets and interestingly, toward the back there was what appeared to be a sunrise or sunset, he couldn’t tell because it was only black and white. As he eyes continued to study the pictures he said, “Cid, I don’t know what to say, these are very, very good! How long have…” his voice died away as he came to the very back of the sketchbook and he just stared. “Cid, are-are these of me?” Of course they were, but he asked anyway as a knee-jerk reaction to seeing his own face and body looking back at him. They lacked any definite detail and were only the roughest of sketches at best, but their identity was unmistakable. One was of him standing at the rail, his hair caught in the wind, and another was of him holding Death Penalty, aiming in a fighting stance. He looked up at the blushing pilot, rather stunned. “They’re not finished.” He said bluntly, but his voice was soft, not accusatory or condescending.
“Have some roast.” After placing a plate in front of Vincent -and safely away from the book-Cid commenced stuffing his face. He figured Vincent would rather have his questions ignored than watch him talk with his mouth full. Eventually, he realized he was being just as rude by not answering, so he swallowed, took a sip of the wine he really didn’t remember bringing with him, and slid the book closer to himself. “I never finish anything in there. You’ll notice that even if it’s detailed, it ain’t colored. An’, uh, ya make a good subject, s‘all. The girl there, I grew up with ‘er. Amelia. She fought with the original AVALANCHE. Well, ya wouldn’t know about that. Was about five years ago. Anyway, she was like a sister. Had to talk me into every major decision I ever made. They uh, turned ‘er into a Raven. Guess ya prob’ly don’t know about them, either, huh? Well…they were genetically enhanced fer fightin’, like SOLDIER but even more fucked up. She…well, there wasn’t no human left in ‘er. ShinRa captured ‘er an’ put ‘er down like an animal.” Looking up at Vincent, he realized he had ventured into a subject dangerously close to one they were trying to avoid. “But anyway,” he said, flipping to the back again, “I like ‘em like this. ‘Cause if I put in all the detail and everything, there’s no reason for me to remember. I wanna remember, ‘cause…well, it’s better than just seein’ it on paper. That prob’ly don’t make sense to ya, but…” Cid shrugged and turned one more page, not remembering what came next.
“Ah,” Vincent said softly, poking at his food, “I see.” It made perfect sense to him, actually, but he didn’t say anything to that effect. He figured Cid didn’t really care about what he had to say anyway. More times than not, when he asked the pilot a question, Cid would get surly or defensive and it seemed like he spent more time trying to get him to speak, as though it was some kind of game he had to win. Well, so much for that, he thought, allowing his face to fall back into its usual unreadable expression, but he did say, “Well, finished or not, they are very good. You have real talent, Cid.” And that was the end of that. He didn’t really feel very hungry, so he focused upon his wine instead.
Cid’s expression softened as he took in the last “completed” drawing in the book. It featured himself and Vincent at their picnic on the deck. He was oblivious to Vincent’s returned sullenness, as he had become engrossed in studying the picture again. He took a pencil from its place under the strap of his goggles and began adding more detail, fleshing out angles and adjusting shading, roast forgotten. Sneaking reference-peeks at Vincent’s face every so often, he completed the image to a greater extent than any of the others depicting Vincent. “I never watched ya while I had this,” he said, “so I couldn’t be sure they were right. The other pictures, I mean.” With a few final strokes, he tore out the page carefully and pushed it toward Vincent. “I want ya t’have that one. I never was too good with self-portraits, but I wanted…” I wanted you to have somethin’ of us together just in case I don’t make it out alive. “Well, I wanted ya to have it, that’s all.” He had never really been shy about showing off his drawings; he knew they were good, and he prided himself on them. With this one, though, he was fervently hoping for approval, and the closed-off look on Vincent’s face said that he might not get it.
Vincent studied the picture, suddenly...well, brokenhearted. He remembered that day. A sad little smile played at his lips as he traced Cid’s face with his fingertip. He had shared a part of himself with Cid, shooting; even though the man really didn’t appear to care for it, he still made Vincent feel special. He didn’t pick it up, he was afraid to. He was afraid that if he touched it, he would sully it, dirty the moment somehow. He felt the distance between them like the great rift of rock at Cosmo Canyon. How had it come to this so suddenly? What happened? He thought desperately as his heart bled. Inwardly he was a wreck, outwardly he showed no emotion whatsoever as he looked up at Cid, “Thank you,” he whispered, oblivious to the fact that he was still lightly stroking Cid’s penciled face with a forefinger.
“Dammit, I didn’t mean to make ya sad, Vin. You don’t…you don’t wanna leave, do ya? I don’t think…I don’t think I’d be okay if you left.” What the hell was that? Y’sound like a woman, Highwind. “All right,” he said, pushing his chair from the table. “Let’s go do somethin’. I’m depressin’ both of us just sittin’ here.” Neither of them had eaten very much, but the wine would be gone before the night was over for sure. “Hey. As far as I’m concerned, this place is yours as much as mine. So…anything you wanna do? I mean, I know you said it doesn’t matter, but…if there’s anything you want that I can help you with, I wanna make sure you get it. Look at ya. Ya taught me how to shoot, rebuilt my Bronco, had dinner an’ lunch an’ drinks with me just so I wouldn’t be alone. You…shit, Vincent, you’ve given me so much this past few days. Everything I wanted.”
Vincent stood when Cid did, out of habit, and shook his head. “It is enough for me to be here with you, Cid. I do not wish to be alone either.” He turned away and wandered into the sitting area before saying, “I have been alone too long. Is there nothing you wish to do?” He turned around and leveled a stare on the pilot.
“Well…” He snatched the tattered book again and opened it to the very last page, where there was a very indistinct drawing. “There’s this,” he said, turning it in Vincent’s direction. Figuring he’d better explain, he shuffled his feet and said, “Remember how ya said you’d model for me? Yeah, I put some thought into it, an’ this is what I came up with. If…y’know, if ya still wanted to give it a try.” The subject seemed rather taboo, now that he was thinking about it. Here they sat, ice forming between them, and Cid suggested that Vincent strip. He was certain that would not end well, and braced himself for the verbal blows and the storming out.
Vincent almost took a step back he was so startled at this request. You want me to…pose? But he had said that he would and if the truth were known, the idea didn’t upset him. It made him a little nervous, but not upset. He stared at Cid for probably too long as the pilot began to turn red and fidget before he said softly, “That is right, Cid, I did say that.” He walked up to the blonde and placed his hand against the rough, stubbly cheek and said, “I would see you happy Cid. For all your faults, I wish for nothing else for you, and if this would make you happy, why, how can I refuse?” His hand went to his collar and unfastened the clasp. His stomach was in knots, but he gave his word of sorts, “Where do you want me?”
“Fuck, anywhere,” he mumbled, before realizing that the question was actually important. “Uhh, the easel’s by the bed, an’ you’d prob’ly be more comf’table there anyway. You really…you really want to? I ain’t askin’ if you will, I’m askin’ if you want to.” Cid really hoped for an affirmative answer to that. At the same time, he looked back on the way he’d been acting all evening and determined that he had been trying to make Vincent leave even as he told himself that was the last thing he wanted. Fuckin’ subconscious. “I won’t be upset with ya if you don’t, an’ I still won’t want ya ta leave.”
Vincent placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “Cid, I want to do this, all right?” He took a step back and bent over to unfasten and pull off his armored boots. He then straightened and walked into the bedroom; acutely aware of how close Cid was behind him. His stomach clenched tighter. He paused in the doorway and looked around at the rumpled, dirty clothes on the floor, the unmade bed, the ‘spare’ pack of cigarettes on the nightstand next to an overfull ashtray and tried to make light of the situation, “You-“ he cleared his throat, “you should not have fired your maid, Cid.” He turned and grinned lopsidedly at the pilot as he pulled his headscarf off to let his hair fall in a shaggy, obsidian mane around his face. “Do you have a robe I might use?”
Cid snorted. “What the hell would I want with a robe? Nope, sorry.” He kicked some of the discarded items around to form a path and cleared a space on the top of the wardrobe for Vincent’s things. “Guess you can use a towel, though. Those’re always clean,” he teased, watching the mild horror on the pale face as the gunslinger took in the dirty clothes. “I’ll get set up, I guess, while you…” he cleared his throat as well, “yeah.”
Closing his eyes and praying for patience and not to vomit, Vincent sighed and said reluctantly, “A towel will have to suffice.” He walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and took a deep breath. You can do this Valentine. He’s your friend, he is not going to judge you. His back to the mirror, Vincent began to remove his clothes. When he stepped from the last of it, he pulled down one of the fluffy towels and wrapped it around his waist, which slipped low on his narrow hips (he never could wear towels). He carefully folded his shirt and pants, coiled the headscarf on top of the elbow-length glove, and holding the lot of it against his chest hesitated one more time before exiting the bathroom and crossing the narrow hall to stand once more in the doorway of Cid’s bedroom. “And what is the pose you had in mind for me?” he asked softly, mildly chagrined at the heat he felt radiating from his face.
“Shit, you could stand right there just like that an’…heh, did I say that out loud? Too much to drink…” Cid ran a hand down his face and tried again. “Well, I don’t know, really. I mean, I thought about it a little, yeah, but…I dunno. Why don’t you…make yerself comfortable, an’ we’ll work from there? Can leave yer stuff up there,” he said, pointing at the only empty space on the flat surface. “Toss me those cigarettes, would ya? I don’t smoke in here, an’ especially not with you here, but I ran out o’ toothpicks, so.” He was rambling. In Cid’s case, that did not exactly denote nervousness, but it very well could have in this case. “You can…ya know, keep covered anything you really feel you need to. I’m not gonna ask ya ta blatantly show off everything.”
Cocking his head, Vincent walked into the room and deposited his clothes on the dresser before lifting an eyebrow at the ashtray when Cid said he didn’t smoke in the bedroom. Eyebrow still cocked, he glanced over his shoulder at the pilot meaningfully before picking up the cigarettes and tossing them to the blond. Suddenly he didn’t feel quite as shy as he had, and he wasn’t quite sure why. “Cid, I just placed comfortable on your dresser.” He took a couple of steps closer to the pilot. “Would you like me on the bed then?” he asked, attempting to unlock Cid from his apparently frozen state, and get this thing moving forward.
“Huh? Uh, yeah, that’s good. Don’t fix it, though. Needs to be messed up a little for the, uh, theme.” Theme? You just screwed yerself over. You don’t do theme. “Try sittin’ first, an’ if that don’t work for one of us, we’ll lay you down.” Suddenly he needed to occupy his hands, and did so by adjusting the easel and finding the stool and the extra canvas he kept around. Once he was satisfied, at least temporarily, he sat and opened the pack of cigarettes, placing one in his mouth before pitching them back to Vincent. “Take one if you want. Might help you relax.”
Uh-huh, liar, Vincent thought as Cid lit up a cigarette and he caught the pack that was flung back at him. He sighed as he placed them back on the nightstand and turned to settle on the bed, back straight and hands resting in his lap. He didn’t know what Cid had in mind and was lost as to what to do next.
Reveal your beauty to me my love so that I may know heaven...