Vincent listened to Cid's words with one ear, shrugging at the man's question about store occupation, but his focus was on a small man in a visually flaying wardrobe with his angular head propped on what looked like embroidery of some kind. He stared. He couldn't help it; between the colors and the... was that makeup?... the little fellow made for an, interesting, picture.
He also looked utterly exhausted, and if he had had to make all of these outfits by hand, then Vincent was not surprised in the least. As a result, he opted to leave him alone for the time being. Should they find anything, then they would wake him up. Absently he wondered where the shop's proprietor, what was his name... Kupo, Kirtle, Keffle...Kefka!... that was it, was.
Turning back to Cid, he made a vague gesture to keep it down while pointing at the man behind the counter, and then raised an eye at the t-shirt. It was Cid's style, but the color was wrong.
"Not yellow, Cid, it makes your hair look like dried straw, try and find something in blue..." Vincent said softly as he eyed a wrack of dark-colored slacks.
He glanced back at the pilot after a moment, and shook his head. "I don't need anything, what I have is sufficient-" But still, he thought, looking back at the slacks a little longingly. It has been an awfully long time since I've had anything remotely 'normal'. Perhaps it couldn't hurt to try a few things on?
[OOC: No worries! Technology dances to its own drummer ;3]
There's something powerful in the shop. Ooh, that violent, warrior's energy ever changing, four-faced and foursquare, a quintet, maybe, the flavor of madness and how elegant it is, how it slips and spirals, we should take it
Kefka stirs, rubbing his temples; his head feels like someone put it in a lemon squeezer. But. People--
...not a threat. He settles down to watch the two in his store, and listen. What was he thinking before he woke up? The gods--he can't remember. Let him think...
Cid looked at Vincent, unamused, as the gunman wordlessly told him to be quiet. Then he finally noticed the sleeping...person...(did anyone dressed in such colors deserve to be called a person? Cid just wasn't sure) sleeping in the chair behind the counter.
He shrugged. "Hey, if 'e can't bother t'be awake when 'e's got customers, ever'thing's free, right?" Of course, he wouldn't just take anything. He'd be a polite member of society and leave the money on the counter. Probably with a tip, because Cid respected anyone who could sleep as much as he could sleep himself.
"Hey, what about these?" he asked, eyes lighting on the slacks Vincent was looking at. "There's even some in black," Cid pointed out, pulling a pair off the rack and holding them out. "They might fit ya. I dunno." An excellent opportunity to spend time looking almost innocently at Vincent's body- in a constructive manner, of course. He was helping. "Maybe a size down?" He fished for a pair in a smaller size and, upon finding them, gave a triumphant, "Aha!" and tossed them in Vincent's direction. "You go try those. I'mma find a shirt." There were tons of blue things in here; surely he could find something to suit him.
Vincent rolled his eyes at the pilot, as he haphazardly caught the slacks that were tossed at him, at his mention of sleep=steal. He knew Cid was honest and would never do that, but still... such a childish thing to say. As a result, he couldn't help the secret, fond little smile that he shot over his shoulder at Cid's back as the man found some blue shirts to go through.
He looked down at the slacks in his hands. The weave was close and even, the seams neat and meticulous, and he had no doubt in his mind that if he were to take off his glove and feel the material that it would easily be as soft as it looked. He was suddenly very eager to try them on...
But he needed a shirt to put on as well, as leaving the shirt of his fighting leathers on would just be... well, it would not be appropriate. Carefully folding and draping the slacks over one arm, he moved to a nearby rack of simple button-down shirts. He needed one suitable to hide his scars- he froze then, one hand on a shirt and he swallowed. He hadn't even thought of his scars in so long. Unconsciously the hand that had been nudging through shirts moved up to touch a place on his chest. The most telling scar of them all...
He sighed, wilting a little. Well there was no sense in dwelling on it, was there? He couldn't "un-do" anything, and given the chance, would he really want to? Setting his jaw, he grabbed a simple white shirt and looked around until he found a fitting room. Locking himself in, he studiously avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror as he undressed (taking meticulous care with his gauntlet, but leaving that glove on), until he was in the new outfit. Turning around he regarded himself with a critical eye. Besides the headscarf holding his wild hair back, it wasn't too bad.
The only thing that bothered him was that it reminded him too much of when he was a Turk, a time he would much rather forget than relive. His lips flattened. That and the damn pants were just a bit too tight, at least in the ass, which he wasn't terribly thrilled with, having always preferred looser-fitting clothes.
With a sigh he exited the fitting room, feeling guilty for not letting the help know that he and Cid were making themselves at home. He caught Cid's eye, and when the pilot came over he raised an eyebrow, held up his arms and asked, "Well?"
"Aw, fuck, 'e's alive...too bad." Cid peered at Kefka in a sort of sideways head-tilt. "Don't look too good, though. Eh, whatever. So, what did y- well."
Finally looking at Vincent for the first time since he had come out of the changing stall, Cid grinned widely. "Can't hardly tell where th'shirt stops an' yer neck starts, y'ghost." But the pants... "Turn around," he said, but didn't wait to see if Vincent would. He walked behind him instead, giving a low whistle. "Maybe I shoulda tossed ya that first pair instead after all."
And, finally, he looked in the direction Kefka had hinted them in, and noticed that it wasn't much different from what was in his hands, only a darker color. Another pair of slacks and a vest, and the burgundy could easily be worn with a darker color than white- black, even. "Yeah, Vin, try that!" He sloppily returned the crimson vest to its place and quickly dug for a shirt to match the vest and slacks Kefka had indicated.
"You go put that on, an' I'm gonna try a couple o' these," he directed, regathering his small armful of shirts in various blues and styles.
Vincent jumped when the little man behind the counter spoke up, and he hastened to reassure him. "We fully intend to pay for our purchases, sir." Wait a moment, did he just say "Melt the pilot?" "I can assure you, you need not result to such drastic actions."
He winced as he saw Cid put the vest back, and in the end, couldn't resist and straightened the garment. If that kept up, perhaps 'melting' might be warranted. He scowled at being called a "ghost". "Nice," he said, then sighed and looked down at the new outfit in his arms. This was going to get old very quickly, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being relegated to "doll" status.
"Well, since we're here," He said firmly. "You're going to need something other than t-shirts and cargo pants, here..." he reached up and removed a handsome dark blue suit, paused to look at its dimensions, then at Cid, frowned and put the suit back to remove another similar garment that was one size up. "Try this on."
He then retreated back into his changing room and peeled out of his current pair to slacks, shook them out and carefully replaced them before trying on the new pair. These fit much better, and the black shirt he put on after discarding the white one suited him better. He slipped into the burgundy vest and turned around to admire himself in the mirror- he flinched. The red of his headscarf clashed something terrible with the burgundy. He reached up and unwound it, shaking his hair free, then looked back at the mirror. This was acceptable, the vest was a bit much, but it was a... mature, look. It would look better if he cut his hair... no, he wouldn't do that. The Turk was dead, what was left was the monster. But he could tame it a bit-
With a soft huff, he stepped out of his changing room and looked for Cid with anticipation; to see if he would look as good as he had a suspicion he would.
"Good. Try on whatever, just pay me afterwords," Kefka murmurs, then looks up, eyes hollow. "Try putting your hair up! You look like a....no, you wouldn't get it."
"That you out there?" Of course it was. the guy at the counter clearly had no intention of moving, and no one else had come by yet. Good. Let the whining begin. "Why th'hell do I even need one o' these? I ain't got no reason t'wear a suit." He straightened and flattened and shot annoyed glances at the mirror, but the fabric didn't get any less restricting and he didn't feel any less like the seams were about to pop at the shoulders.
But he knew that if he stayed in his stall, Vincent would probably go back and then Cid wouldn't get to see him in the-
Oh hell. They were shopping. This trip was no longer of the "let's get new clothes!" variety. It had morphed into, "Let's try on clothes and tell each other how great we look!" More teenage girl stuff.
He and Vincent were absolutely no good for each other.
Still pouting and trying to fix his hair, he opened the door, goggles swinging in his left hand as his scowl rapidly turned into a bright grin. "Well, don't you look like somethin' I wanna take home?"
He... is too good at this... I *hate* clothes and shopping! Why must my muse like it? *cries*missdredemptionSeptember 14 2010, 03:49:17 UTC
"Put... my hair up-" Vincent said, scowling and looking over his shoulder at the little man behind the counter. Was that a reference as to my appearing effeminate? He opened his mouth to reply that he didn't appreciate the innuendo, but the words were frozen on his tongue as he was distracted by Cid coming out of his changing stall. His eyebrow crept up. Yep, he was right... Cid did look good...
... Until he opened his mouth. Vincent rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the grin and faint blush Cid's words called up. Predictable, Highwind, he thought with a sigh, and then pushed Cid's observation aside as his eye grew critical.
"Hm," he said walking up to Cid. He reached up and straightened Cid's shoulders, then flicked them with his fingers as he gauged the fit. "A little too tight in the shoulders, we'll need to either get the coat altered or find another suit one size up..." he muttered to himself as he fixed Cid's collar and smoothed his hands down the lapel, tugging the coat closed. "Good," he grunted at the proper fit. "The dimensions across your chest are acceptable..."
Such a broad chest too, I wonder why I never noticed that before, he thought, then blinked and shook his head. Right, moving on...
He then moved around behind Cid, running his eyes over the pilot's shoulders from behind. Vincent sighed and shook his head. "Don't slouch so much, Chief, here..." he placed his hands on Cid's shoulders and pulled them up and back. Oh, much better, he thought. "The jacket very nearly fits so long as you maintain your posture... but we want you to be comfortable. No sense in being miserable while looking so good." He muttered again, absently, while tugging down on the jacket.
Moving his eyes down Cid's torso, they alighted on Cid's backside and they widened appreciatively. "Cid?" He said, cocking his head and raising both eyebrows in startlement. "When did you get an ass?"
[OOC: Vincent, you're killing me. I love ya, but you're killing me, my darling derp.]
feel free to skip Kefka's turns, he's not doing much xDsandinmybootsSeptember 15 2010, 05:41:27 UTC
"Yeah, or it's gonna get stuck on something! Only civvies keep their hair down like that! Someone's gonna use it as a bellrope!" Kefka crows, then adjusts his makeshift pillow and settles down to watch. If only he had food! Then he'd have dinner and a show.
"Th'hell're you lookin' there for!?" he whined, feeling the absurd urge to cover himself and settling for whipping around to huff at Vincent.
"An' I still say there ain't no reason fer one o' these. When the hell d'ya think I'm gonna need a suit in this place?" He made to cross his arms, but the seams were too tight at the shoulders and he wasn't going to chance popping them and having to pay for this...atrocity.
A few moments of mostly unintelligible muttering later, he grinned again, belatedly sensing an opportunity of some kind. "Wanna touch it?"
[You'd think he'd just be happy that Vincent found him attractive in it...? And Vin can hear whatever he wants/you want in the unintelligible muttering.]
All right 8( ... but feel free to jump in with anything at any time! <3missdredemptionSeptember 18 2010, 20:27:18 UTC
Vincent's face turned red at Cid's question. Why was he looking there? And a bell rope! Civvies? Caught on things? If he wasn't so good at controlling his reactions he might have actually spluttered and begun an argument over that. Insulting your patrons wasn't exactly good for business!
But once again, Cid pulled his attention back around. He scowled at the pilot through his flush and jerked his hands back. "No, I do not want to 'touch it'." He sniffed. "And you might need a suit if there is some sort of... I don't know... formal, thing. A man always needs a suit, and it wouldn't hurt you to have one."
He didn't exactly feel the need to mention that he liked the way Cid looked in a suit, well, as soon as he took off those damned flight goggles of his that is.
Turning away from Cid, Vincent walked over to a rack of crimson and black sweaters. He reached out and fingered the fabric. It was soft. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a sweater. What better way to hide ones bulk, or conspicuous lack thereof, than to have sweater?
Not convinced, Cid huffed and walked back into the stall, all but slamming the door closed and calling, "Don't even think about buyin' that," over his shoulder.
When he came back out, the suit was as he had found it, if a bit more rumpled. He replaced it on the rack and scouted around quickly to see if anything else would catch his eye-for either of him. He'd have to get that t-shirt, at least one, but apart from that...well, another pair of cargo pants wouldn't hurt. He wandered into an area that seemed to be stocked primarily with pants. He found khakis, jeans, cargos...and leather.
"Say, Vince, these are just about yer style, ain't they?" he asked, holding up a pair that promised to fit especially tightly. "They'd certainly be my style on ya..."
Vincent's eyebrow rose at Cid's retreating back. "Excuse me?" He said incredulously. The pilot's reaction to the sweater only made him determined to buy it, if for no other reason than to piss his friend off.
His other eyebrow joined the first in rising nearly to his hairline at Cid's last suggestive comment. "I'm not putting those on, you might as well as spray paint my ass black and call me dressed. What if I had to fight in those?" But still... he did love leather.
Draping the sweater over his arm, determined to try it on, he walked over to appraise the soft black leather. He dismissed the pair Cid was eying and went for a couple of sizes larger. It was soft, much like suede or calfskin, stitching was clean, seams smooth. With a nod he pulled the pants off of the rack and headed for his dressing room. He made quick work of undressing from his current slacks and vest outfit, meticulously replacing the garments on their respective hangers then slid into the leather pants.
They were surprisingly comfortable and they hugged his legs like a second skin. Also there was a bit of an elastic stretch to them, and he marveled at the craftsmanship that went into making them. Deep in his mind Chaos stirred as it picked up a whiff of magic, and Vincent wasn't the least bit surprised, as leather was anything but elastic.
Pulling the sweater over his head he sighed at the soft material against his scarred flesh. It was extremely comfortable, which only served to solidify his desire to purchase it. He then exited the stall and walked over to Cid, holding his arms out a little. "Well?"
Well. For one thing, the sweater was long enough that it covered anything that would have been fun to see in those pants.
For another… Cid smiled a small, indulgent, and somehow sad smile as he turned and stepped closer to Vincent. Avoiding eye contact, he smoothed his hands over the sides of the sweater, mouth twisting in thought. “If y’wanna wear this, y’gotta wear somethin’ looser’n these,” he pointed out, one hand drifting low enough to rest beneath the sweater on a leather-clad hip. “Sweater like that oughta be tucked in, especially on somebody built like you. Soft, though. Feels pretty nice.” His hands squeezed briefly where they were -at Vincent’s waist and hip- and Cid walked back to the cargo pants he’d found.
After selecting a couple of pairs to try and one more blue shirt, this one a pale shade and a button-up, he walked back to the fitting rooms without seeking Vincent’s eyes. Once the door was shut behind him, he perched on the narrow bench opposite the mirror and gave a great sigh, his head in his hands. This trip had been intended to take the edge off, not to make Cid want him more...
And, knowing that he would make everything worse if he hid, he opened his door and stepped outside again, a lopsided smile on his face as he planted himself between Vincent and the fitting rooms. "Y'didn't upset me. Wanted ya t'know that."
He also looked utterly exhausted, and if he had had to make all of these outfits by hand, then Vincent was not surprised in the least. As a result, he opted to leave him alone for the time being. Should they find anything, then they would wake him up. Absently he wondered where the shop's proprietor, what was his name... Kupo, Kirtle, Keffle...Kefka!... that was it, was.
Turning back to Cid, he made a vague gesture to keep it down while pointing at the man behind the counter, and then raised an eye at the t-shirt. It was Cid's style, but the color was wrong.
"Not yellow, Cid, it makes your hair look like dried straw, try and find something in blue..." Vincent said softly as he eyed a wrack of dark-colored slacks.
He glanced back at the pilot after a moment, and shook his head. "I don't need anything, what I have is sufficient-" But still, he thought, looking back at the slacks a little longingly. It has been an awfully long time since I've had anything remotely 'normal'. Perhaps it couldn't hurt to try a few things on?
[OOC: No worries! Technology dances to its own drummer ;3]
Reply
Kefka stirs, rubbing his temples; his head feels like someone put it in a lemon squeezer. But. People--
...not a threat. He settles down to watch the two in his store, and listen. What was he thinking before he woke up? The gods--he can't remember. Let him think...
Reply
He shrugged. "Hey, if 'e can't bother t'be awake when 'e's got customers, ever'thing's free, right?" Of course, he wouldn't just take anything. He'd be a polite member of society and leave the money on the counter. Probably with a tip, because Cid respected anyone who could sleep as much as he could sleep himself.
"Hey, what about these?" he asked, eyes lighting on the slacks Vincent was looking at. "There's even some in black," Cid pointed out, pulling a pair off the rack and holding them out. "They might fit ya. I dunno." An excellent opportunity to spend time looking almost innocently at Vincent's body- in a constructive manner, of course. He was helping. "Maybe a size down?" He fished for a pair in a smaller size and, upon finding them, gave a triumphant, "Aha!" and tossed them in Vincent's direction. "You go try those. I'mma find a shirt." There were tons of blue things in here; surely he could find something to suit him.
Reply
He looked down at the slacks in his hands. The weave was close and even, the seams neat and meticulous, and he had no doubt in his mind that if he were to take off his glove and feel the material that it would easily be as soft as it looked. He was suddenly very eager to try them on...
But he needed a shirt to put on as well, as leaving the shirt of his fighting leathers on would just be... well, it would not be appropriate. Carefully folding and draping the slacks over one arm, he moved to a nearby rack of simple button-down shirts. He needed one suitable to hide his scars- he froze then, one hand on a shirt and he swallowed. He hadn't even thought of his scars in so long. Unconsciously the hand that had been nudging through shirts moved up to touch a place on his chest. The most telling scar of them all...
He sighed, wilting a little. Well there was no sense in dwelling on it, was there? He couldn't "un-do" anything, and given the chance, would he really want to? Setting his jaw, he grabbed a simple white shirt and looked around until he found a fitting room. Locking himself in, he studiously avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror as he undressed (taking meticulous care with his gauntlet, but leaving that glove on), until he was in the new outfit. Turning around he regarded himself with a critical eye. Besides the headscarf holding his wild hair back, it wasn't too bad.
The only thing that bothered him was that it reminded him too much of when he was a Turk, a time he would much rather forget than relive. His lips flattened. That and the damn pants were just a bit too tight, at least in the ass, which he wasn't terribly thrilled with, having always preferred looser-fitting clothes.
With a sigh he exited the fitting room, feeling guilty for not letting the help know that he and Cid were making themselves at home. He caught Cid's eye, and when the pilot came over he raised an eyebrow, held up his arms and asked, "Well?"
Reply
Reply
Finally looking at Vincent for the first time since he had come out of the changing stall, Cid grinned widely. "Can't hardly tell where th'shirt stops an' yer neck starts, y'ghost." But the pants... "Turn around," he said, but didn't wait to see if Vincent would. He walked behind him instead, giving a low whistle. "Maybe I shoulda tossed ya that first pair instead after all."
And, finally, he looked in the direction Kefka had hinted them in, and noticed that it wasn't much different from what was in his hands, only a darker color. Another pair of slacks and a vest, and the burgundy could easily be worn with a darker color than white- black, even. "Yeah, Vin, try that!" He sloppily returned the crimson vest to its place and quickly dug for a shirt to match the vest and slacks Kefka had indicated.
"You go put that on, an' I'm gonna try a couple o' these," he directed, regathering his small armful of shirts in various blues and styles.
Reply
He winced as he saw Cid put the vest back, and in the end, couldn't resist and straightened the garment. If that kept up, perhaps 'melting' might be warranted. He scowled at being called a "ghost". "Nice," he said, then sighed and looked down at the new outfit in his arms. This was going to get old very quickly, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being relegated to "doll" status.
"Well, since we're here," He said firmly. "You're going to need something other than t-shirts and cargo pants, here..." he reached up and removed a handsome dark blue suit, paused to look at its dimensions, then at Cid, frowned and put the suit back to remove another similar garment that was one size up. "Try this on."
He then retreated back into his changing room and peeled out of his current pair to slacks, shook them out and carefully replaced them before trying on the new pair. These fit much better, and the black shirt he put on after discarding the white one suited him better. He slipped into the burgundy vest and turned around to admire himself in the mirror- he flinched. The red of his headscarf clashed something terrible with the burgundy. He reached up and unwound it, shaking his hair free, then looked back at the mirror. This was acceptable, the vest was a bit much, but it was a... mature, look. It would look better if he cut his hair... no, he wouldn't do that. The Turk was dead, what was left was the monster. But he could tame it a bit-
With a soft huff, he stepped out of his changing room and looked for Cid with anticipation; to see if he would look as good as he had a suspicion he would.
Reply
Reply
But he knew that if he stayed in his stall, Vincent would probably go back and then Cid wouldn't get to see him in the-
Oh hell. They were shopping. This trip was no longer of the "let's get new clothes!" variety. It had morphed into, "Let's try on clothes and tell each other how great we look!" More teenage girl stuff.
He and Vincent were absolutely no good for each other.
Still pouting and trying to fix his hair, he opened the door, goggles swinging in his left hand as his scowl rapidly turned into a bright grin. "Well, don't you look like somethin' I wanna take home?"
Reply
... Until he opened his mouth. Vincent rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the grin and faint blush Cid's words called up. Predictable, Highwind, he thought with a sigh, and then pushed Cid's observation aside as his eye grew critical.
"Hm," he said walking up to Cid. He reached up and straightened Cid's shoulders, then flicked them with his fingers as he gauged the fit. "A little too tight in the shoulders, we'll need to either get the coat altered or find another suit one size up..." he muttered to himself as he fixed Cid's collar and smoothed his hands down the lapel, tugging the coat closed. "Good," he grunted at the proper fit. "The dimensions across your chest are acceptable..."
Such a broad chest too, I wonder why I never noticed that before, he thought, then blinked and shook his head. Right, moving on...
He then moved around behind Cid, running his eyes over the pilot's shoulders from behind. Vincent sighed and shook his head. "Don't slouch so much, Chief, here..." he placed his hands on Cid's shoulders and pulled them up and back. Oh, much better, he thought. "The jacket very nearly fits so long as you maintain your posture... but we want you to be comfortable. No sense in being miserable while looking so good." He muttered again, absently, while tugging down on the jacket.
Moving his eyes down Cid's torso, they alighted on Cid's backside and they widened appreciatively. "Cid?" He said, cocking his head and raising both eyebrows in startlement. "When did you get an ass?"
[OOC: Vincent, you're killing me. I love ya, but you're killing me, my darling derp.]
Reply
Reply
"An' I still say there ain't no reason fer one o' these. When the hell d'ya think I'm gonna need a suit in this place?" He made to cross his arms, but the seams were too tight at the shoulders and he wasn't going to chance popping them and having to pay for this...atrocity.
A few moments of mostly unintelligible muttering later, he grinned again, belatedly sensing an opportunity of some kind. "Wanna touch it?"
[You'd think he'd just be happy that Vincent found him attractive in it...? And Vin can hear whatever he wants/you want in the unintelligible muttering.]
Reply
But once again, Cid pulled his attention back around. He scowled at the pilot through his flush and jerked his hands back. "No, I do not want to 'touch it'." He sniffed. "And you might need a suit if there is some sort of... I don't know... formal, thing. A man always needs a suit, and it wouldn't hurt you to have one."
He didn't exactly feel the need to mention that he liked the way Cid looked in a suit, well, as soon as he took off those damned flight goggles of his that is.
Turning away from Cid, Vincent walked over to a rack of crimson and black sweaters. He reached out and fingered the fabric. It was soft. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a sweater. What better way to hide ones bulk, or conspicuous lack thereof, than to have sweater?
Reply
When he came back out, the suit was as he had found it, if a bit more rumpled. He replaced it on the rack and scouted around quickly to see if anything else would catch his eye-for either of him. He'd have to get that t-shirt, at least one, but apart from that...well, another pair of cargo pants wouldn't hurt. He wandered into an area that seemed to be stocked primarily with pants. He found khakis, jeans, cargos...and leather.
"Say, Vince, these are just about yer style, ain't they?" he asked, holding up a pair that promised to fit especially tightly. "They'd certainly be my style on ya..."
Reply
His other eyebrow joined the first in rising nearly to his hairline at Cid's last suggestive comment. "I'm not putting those on, you might as well as spray paint my ass black and call me dressed. What if I had to fight in those?" But still... he did love leather.
Draping the sweater over his arm, determined to try it on, he walked over to appraise the soft black leather. He dismissed the pair Cid was eying and went for a couple of sizes larger. It was soft, much like suede or calfskin, stitching was clean, seams smooth. With a nod he pulled the pants off of the rack and headed for his dressing room. He made quick work of undressing from his current slacks and vest outfit, meticulously replacing the garments on their respective hangers then slid into the leather pants.
They were surprisingly comfortable and they hugged his legs like a second skin. Also there was a bit of an elastic stretch to them, and he marveled at the craftsmanship that went into making them. Deep in his mind Chaos stirred as it picked up a whiff of magic, and Vincent wasn't the least bit surprised, as leather was anything but elastic.
Pulling the sweater over his head he sighed at the soft material against his scarred flesh. It was extremely comfortable, which only served to solidify his desire to purchase it. He then exited the stall and walked over to Cid, holding his arms out a little. "Well?"
Reply
For another… Cid smiled a small, indulgent, and somehow sad smile as he turned and stepped closer to Vincent. Avoiding eye contact, he smoothed his hands over the sides of the sweater, mouth twisting in thought. “If y’wanna wear this, y’gotta wear somethin’ looser’n these,” he pointed out, one hand drifting low enough to rest beneath the sweater on a leather-clad hip. “Sweater like that oughta be tucked in, especially on somebody built like you. Soft, though. Feels pretty nice.” His hands squeezed briefly where they were -at Vincent’s waist and hip- and Cid walked back to the cargo pants he’d found.
After selecting a couple of pairs to try and one more blue shirt, this one a pale shade and a button-up, he walked back to the fitting rooms without seeking Vincent’s eyes. Once the door was shut behind him, he perched on the narrow bench opposite the mirror and gave a great sigh, his head in his hands. This trip had been intended to take the edge off, not to make Cid want him more...
And, knowing that he would make everything worse if he hid, he opened his door and stepped outside again, a lopsided smile on his face as he planted himself between Vincent and the fitting rooms. "Y'didn't upset me. Wanted ya t'know that."
Reply
Leave a comment