Fic: Bioluminescence (NC-17, Lucrecia/Vincent)
So! Apparently April was Xeno Month for me.
This is probably the only fic I'll write that takes Dirge of Cerberus as canon, and I'm taking a couple of liberties. But the image the prompt inspired was compelling....
Bioluminescence
The word 'unnatural' hardly has any meaning for her anymore, all things considered.
FFVII: Dirge of Cerberus, Vincent/Lucrecia. 3050 words. Mild spoilers.
NC-17/MA/Not Worksafe for sex, xeno, sex while partly/mildly drugged. Takes place while Lucrecia is married to Hojo and pregnant with Sephiroth.
By one in the morning, most of the lab lights had been shut down, and Lucrecia worked by the glow of her monitor and the lab assistant's distant worklamp -- and the omnipresent faint green shine of the mako tube. Her assistant yawned.
"Lin?" Lucrecia said. "Tired?"
"No, Doctor Crescent," Lin said. "If you can keep working -- "
"Pregnant or not, I'm not that delicate," she said. "Go on home. We'll start again in the morning."
When Lin was gone, Lucrecia leaned forward until her forehead rested in her hands. Then she drew a deep breath, turned, and looked at the tube; forced herself to do so without flinching. Vincent floated, head down, pale skin cast green by the combination of luminous mako and preservation fluid. On the monitor behind her, his life signs pulsed with a steady but inhumanly slow beat, more like the biological rhythms of a behemoth than a human.
"Hello, Vincent," she said. Her mouth curved; he, of course, did not respond, deep in mako-sleep. "You're taking the retrovirus well. Ninety percent Chaos-gene absorption already. ...But I suppose that wouldn't make you feel much better, would it?" She crossed the lab to the tube and laid her hand on the reinforced glass. "I am sorry. Really. I wouldn't have chosen you as the subject, if circumstances were different...."
Still he rested in suspension. She reached behind her and hit the mako-drain button. Vincent slumped against the glass as tubes siphoned off the liquid. When the liquid level was at no more than an eighth, she hit the unlock, too.
The door popped open and Vincent slid out into her arms, slick with mako and breathing in deep, shaky gasps. A rush of fluid oozed out of the tube around his feet. "It's all right," she said, fingers in his hair -- mako on her fingers, but then, she was getting mako injected into her, so she could hardly feel too squeamish. "I wanted to let you out for a little while. Vincent. Vincent?"
"Lllluuucrecia?" he said, his voice thick with sleep and mako. His eyes slitted open, and she caught her breath. They'd been hazel, before, but they had turned dark red -- and now she noticed that she saw too that the pallor of his skin was not just due to watching him through the sickly glow of mako but was real, and she would swear that the new darkness to his hair was not just due to its dampness. He was still very beautiful, as he had always been; the more so for the strangeness of him, blood and night and snow.
She thought, Oh. Chaos.
"Wh-what?" he said. "Why am I...." He swallowed, as though he were trying to figure out how to work his tongue again.
"You've been sleeping so long," she said. "I wanted to let you wake up."
"Yes," he said. "Nightmaress. I -- was in -- I dreamed of -- " His eyes widened. "Wings, and, and, fangs, and... fountains of green and white, blood, and a, a husk." His eyes wide, glassy, staring, and she thought that he was not recounting his nightmares so much as seeing them again.
"Yes," she said, fumbling in a drawer until her fingers closed around cool metal. "That's why I wanted to wake you up. You -- I'm afraid we, to save you, we injected you -- well, it doesn't matter, but it means I have to bind you, in case the monsters wake up."
He didn't struggle when she put the cuffs on him (his own handcuffs: one of her mementos), looping them around the hook in the floor that they used to restrain the mako-exposure experiments. "Yes," he said, "monsters -- the beast, and the - the dead one, and the hell creature, and the demon. Wings and b-blood." He wasn't seeing her, he was seeing his own dreams again, and she took his chin gently in her hand.
"You're awake now," she said. "It's been so long, hasn't it? Since you've seen a person, or touched one?"
He blinked, struggling to focus on her face.
"Do you want to touch me?" she asked.
The handcuffs clanked as he tried to move, and he said, "Lucrecia," again. She took that as assent and kissed him.
His lips had the faint sweetness of mako, and the faint bitterness of the preserving fluid they had mixed with his mako, but she had been injected with far worse -- the child-creature inside her, not even yet born, had far more strange things within him. She pressed her tongue into his mouth, and there tasted only saliva -- like hot water and nothing else: he had eaten nothing by mouth for months, nor swallowed mako, had absorbed that through his eyelids and fingertips and the soles of his feet, not by crude ingestion. He tugged at his chains once more, and kissed her back -- awkwardly, more awkwardly than ever he had before, but then she knew as well as anyone the effect of mako on a body.
"It's all right," she said. "I know it's making you clumsy. I'll take care of you."
Most of his clothing had been removed to allow for mako absorption through his skin; she removed the rest deftly, and then shrugged off her lab coat and the shirt under it. His eyes focused on her breasts with an intense alien stare that made her shiver. She leaned forward until her breast brushed his lips, felt the slickness of mako on her nipple and then his mouth parting, his tongue hot and wet.
She reached down between them and found him growing hard, and the moisture on her hands and all over his body made it easy to stroke him and bring him harder. She was so focused on that, and on his mouth on her breast, that she didn't notice his change until the muscles in his thighs rippled and knotted and twisted under her.
She glanced up -- saw the look of startled agony on his face, his pale skin beginning to gray and blue, two long fangs already ruptured from his gums and his arms twisting behind his back, and scrambled backward. She could tell already, even so early in the transformation, that he was not becoming the galian beast, or the death gigas, or the hellmasker. "Holy mother of demons," she breathed. It was too soon -- their projections had indicated that full Chaos transformation shouldn't be possible until genetic absorption reached at least ninety-seven percent, and yet --
His feet twisted, his legs bent, the muscles in his chest tightened and swelled while his belly caved -- she thought she could see his collarbone and sternum writhing beneath his skin, and he made a hoarse, pained noise, which was itself turned incoherent by his forking tongue and the multiplication of fangs in his mouth. He hunched over, suddenly, as far as he could with his wrists bound behind his back -- and she watched his back shudder and then erupt wings, long and slick and dark but fanning themselves to dryness.
Vincent shuddered and gasped, and then shuddered again, his whole body quivering -- wings, back, shoulders, thighs, his newly-avian feet with their long claws twitching. Then his head came up -- his dark hair gone, a spiked crest in its place, and his eyes were not just red but glowing, brighter than anything else in the dark laboratory.
Her gut twisted with terror and lust. "Vincent?" she said, and his eyes shifted from the fierce blank stare of an animal to the focused knowing of a human and back again. She dared move forward again. His hands were still bound, his arms with their corded muscles still limp behind him. "Chaos?" This time the human look lasted longer, but she shuddered with the knowledge that the distant animal look would never entirely go away.
The creature -- Vincent, Chaos -- rumbled long and low, and drew his clawed feet up under him, and then suddenly fanned his wings: fifteen feet of bluegray leather stretched over an architecture of bone, blocking the dim light from the bank of computers behind him. He made a long noise, like a growl or a purr, and his tongue came out to lick his teeth again. She came closer -- heard the high scraping of his talons on the cement floor -- and touched his cheek. She had expected a lizard-roughness to his skin, but it was smooth, and smoother still for the mako that still dripped off his skin.
His eyes faded in and out of coherence. She ran her fingers up to the crest -- not feathers, not hair, something otherworldly -- on his head, and then back down to touch lips spread wide with fangs. He licked her hand. She shuddered, hot, hot despite the cooling liquid on her skin, despite the fact that she was naked to her waist in a lab whose temperature was set to be comfortable for people wearing lab coats over full clothes. She wondered if this was how Hojo felt, his long hours cloistered in the high-security lab with his comatose alien woman.
She touched his chest, slid her hand downward, watching his face -- he said "Lucrecia," but clusmily with his altered mouth, and then snarled, as though speaking was too much effort. He was erect -- erect and enormous, proportional but proportional for a creature ten feet tall and as broad in the shoulder as a bear, and the sight made her flush and slick between her legs as her hands were slick, as his body was slick.
She touched the head of his cock, and he twitched and then his shoulder shifted as if to reach for her -- and the handcuff simply snapped, with a high painful pinging of metal giving way. His hand was enormous, the claws nearly two inches long, but he only scored her skin a little when he traced her breast, and when his claws feathered over her nipple she said, "Oh god."
His arms closed around her -- she could hear the clink of the broken chain hitting the cuffs, still around his wrists -- and pulled her down against him, crudely, so that her still-clothed crotch rubbed against his erection. His grip was not quite tight enough to hurt but he was insistent as Vincent had never been -- Vincent had been gentle, deferential, even shy; Chaos was -- Chaos -- Her chest rubbed against his, her breasts slicking with moisture from his skin. He hooked his claws under the waistband of her pants and she said "Yes" at the same time he tore through them as easy as scissors cutting paper, so that she wasn't sure if he'd done it because she'd consented or she'd consented because he'd done it, but it didn't matter, it didn't, as he tugged them off by shredding -- afterwards she would have to button her jacket closed and hope no one noticed her bare calves on her way back to the room -- and then his hands closed around her thighs and lifted her easily and then turned her over, onto her hands and knees.
She felt hot, electric, swollen, and yet he was so large -- and she had not had sex in a while; Hojo had been so much more interested in the fetus, had shown little interest in her these past months -- that she said, "Wait, wait a moment." She was not sure he understood, or whether he was just readjusting his own position, but it did give her time to drag a hand through the pool of mako on the floor and then press her slick fingers up into herself. It tingled on her skin, warm-and-cold, a prickling like pins and needles but without numbness. She reached back to slick his phallus and then guide him into her, as he leaned over to brace himself, his body so much larger than hers, his claws on the floor a good foot from her own hands.
It did hurt at first -- it was too much, too big, nearly more than she could take, and she heard herself making tiny thin noises as Chaos growled a deep bass note above her. But she was starting to adjust when he thrust, and the mako on her skin, on her back where he pressed against her, tingling on her nipples and sparking deep inside, it made her feel light-headed and dizzy and it was not so much that the pain of the stretch no longer hurt but that it didn't matter. It didn't matter. She heard the snap and whisper of wings and then a shadow fell over them, and she could feel the heat radiating off of Chaos' wings, and when she turned to look back at him his eyes glowed and she couldn't tell if she could see Vincent in them but it didn't matter.
She could see stars and unearthly inhuman voices and a bright void, flashes of water and wings and silver-green ropes, and all the time behind it the low rumble of Chaos' voice and the hot press of his skin on her back and his phallus stretching her past comfort but not quite into numbness so that every movement echoed through her body, hot and tense and tingling. When she cried out and licked her lips she tasted the sharp sweetness. Her skin glowed -- they both glowed -- faintly green and luminous that had nothing to do with reflected light. Her hair clung to her back, fell over her shoulder, its ends soaking in the mako on the floor. She could see his wings working, putting more force behind his thrusts, so that her hands slid on the tractionless floor and she had to brace herself on her forearms.
She curled her hands, and Chaos echoed her, and when he did his claws drew sparks.
And it went on and on, and she saw things -- saw things, swimming before her eyes: Chaos in flight, Vincent's smile and his eyes -- his hazel eyes -- and Hojo, and the alien woman Jenova, and a man with silver hair and high cheekbones, achingly familiar, and --
Chaos snarled and thrust hard, lifting one hand to curl all the way around her thigh and pull her hard against him and she felt him come and thought, giddily, that this was not the most alien thing she had had inside her -- but then started to pull out, and she said, "Not yet -- not yet -- " and he held still a breath and she rocked back onto him, bucking hard against him until the tingling singing that roared over her skin, in her veins, in her ears, before her eyes, coalesced into a moment of light and visions and she came, limp and shuddering. When he let go of her she rolled sideways, not ready even now to actually lie in a puddle of mako.
When she was ready to sit up again, Chaos was Vincent again, looking stunned, dazed, his eyes no longer luminous but puzzled. "Lucrecia," he said, "what -- I -- you...?"
"Yes," she said. She was sticky-soaked and so was he, but that didn't matter for him because he had to go back in the tube. He couldn't survive without mako exposure, not yet, not before they stabilized his DNA -- and at any rate she couldn't leave him out, not when he could transform thus. She kissed him (and now the inside of his mouth did taste of mako, or perhaps she was merely tasting it on her own tongue), and said, "Yes. Vincent."
He closed his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it, but there was too much in his system to clear so easily. She helped him to his feet, and it was touching the way he leaned on her, looked to her, deferential as before and yet with the alien light in his red eyes. "Do I have to g-go back?" he asked. "I just want to be with you a little longer..."
She felt a pang, then, and touched his hair, still damp and now mussed too. "I know," she said. "But yes. You have to. I'm sorry."
He didn't ask questions or protest, which was probably thanks partly to the transformation, partly to his recent orgasm, partly to the mako. He let her lead him back to the tube. She kissed him once again and felt his hand land in her damp hair. Then she drew away and clicked the door shut, triggered the lock, and began the flow of solution back into it.
While he slid back into mako-coma, she hosed the residue down the drain in the center of the floor, disposed of her soaked clothing in the hazardous waste chute, and pulled the lab coat closed over her naked body. It was unlikely that she would be seen at this hour, between the lab and her rooms -- and even more unlikely that Hojo would be there to ask any questions before she could shower and dispose of the coat.
"Good night, Vincent," she said as she shut off the monitors, until the only light came from his tube. "I'm sorry. I'll see you soon."
This is probably the only fic I'll write that takes Dirge of Cerberus as canon, and I'm taking a couple of liberties. But the image the prompt inspired was compelling....
Bioluminescence
The word 'unnatural' hardly has any meaning for her anymore, all things considered.
FFVII: Dirge of Cerberus, Vincent/Lucrecia. 3050 words. Mild spoilers.
NC-17/MA/Not Worksafe for sex, xeno, sex while partly/mildly drugged. Takes place while Lucrecia is married to Hojo and pregnant with Sephiroth.
By one in the morning, most of the lab lights had been shut down, and Lucrecia worked by the glow of her monitor and the lab assistant's distant worklamp -- and the omnipresent faint green shine of the mako tube. Her assistant yawned.
"Lin?" Lucrecia said. "Tired?"
"No, Doctor Crescent," Lin said. "If you can keep working -- "
"Pregnant or not, I'm not that delicate," she said. "Go on home. We'll start again in the morning."
When Lin was gone, Lucrecia leaned forward until her forehead rested in her hands. Then she drew a deep breath, turned, and looked at the tube; forced herself to do so without flinching. Vincent floated, head down, pale skin cast green by the combination of luminous mako and preservation fluid. On the monitor behind her, his life signs pulsed with a steady but inhumanly slow beat, more like the biological rhythms of a behemoth than a human.
"Hello, Vincent," she said. Her mouth curved; he, of course, did not respond, deep in mako-sleep. "You're taking the retrovirus well. Ninety percent Chaos-gene absorption already. ...But I suppose that wouldn't make you feel much better, would it?" She crossed the lab to the tube and laid her hand on the reinforced glass. "I am sorry. Really. I wouldn't have chosen you as the subject, if circumstances were different...."
Still he rested in suspension. She reached behind her and hit the mako-drain button. Vincent slumped against the glass as tubes siphoned off the liquid. When the liquid level was at no more than an eighth, she hit the unlock, too.
The door popped open and Vincent slid out into her arms, slick with mako and breathing in deep, shaky gasps. A rush of fluid oozed out of the tube around his feet. "It's all right," she said, fingers in his hair -- mako on her fingers, but then, she was getting mako injected into her, so she could hardly feel too squeamish. "I wanted to let you out for a little while. Vincent. Vincent?"
"Lllluuucrecia?" he said, his voice thick with sleep and mako. His eyes slitted open, and she caught her breath. They'd been hazel, before, but they had turned dark red -- and now she noticed that she saw too that the pallor of his skin was not just due to watching him through the sickly glow of mako but was real, and she would swear that the new darkness to his hair was not just due to its dampness. He was still very beautiful, as he had always been; the more so for the strangeness of him, blood and night and snow.
She thought, Oh. Chaos.
"Wh-what?" he said. "Why am I...." He swallowed, as though he were trying to figure out how to work his tongue again.
"You've been sleeping so long," she said. "I wanted to let you wake up."
"Yes," he said. "Nightmaress. I -- was in -- I dreamed of -- " His eyes widened. "Wings, and, and, fangs, and... fountains of green and white, blood, and a, a husk." His eyes wide, glassy, staring, and she thought that he was not recounting his nightmares so much as seeing them again.
"Yes," she said, fumbling in a drawer until her fingers closed around cool metal. "That's why I wanted to wake you up. You -- I'm afraid we, to save you, we injected you -- well, it doesn't matter, but it means I have to bind you, in case the monsters wake up."
He didn't struggle when she put the cuffs on him (his own handcuffs: one of her mementos), looping them around the hook in the floor that they used to restrain the mako-exposure experiments. "Yes," he said, "monsters -- the beast, and the - the dead one, and the hell creature, and the demon. Wings and b-blood." He wasn't seeing her, he was seeing his own dreams again, and she took his chin gently in her hand.
"You're awake now," she said. "It's been so long, hasn't it? Since you've seen a person, or touched one?"
He blinked, struggling to focus on her face.
"Do you want to touch me?" she asked.
The handcuffs clanked as he tried to move, and he said, "Lucrecia," again. She took that as assent and kissed him.
His lips had the faint sweetness of mako, and the faint bitterness of the preserving fluid they had mixed with his mako, but she had been injected with far worse -- the child-creature inside her, not even yet born, had far more strange things within him. She pressed her tongue into his mouth, and there tasted only saliva -- like hot water and nothing else: he had eaten nothing by mouth for months, nor swallowed mako, had absorbed that through his eyelids and fingertips and the soles of his feet, not by crude ingestion. He tugged at his chains once more, and kissed her back -- awkwardly, more awkwardly than ever he had before, but then she knew as well as anyone the effect of mako on a body.
"It's all right," she said. "I know it's making you clumsy. I'll take care of you."
Most of his clothing had been removed to allow for mako absorption through his skin; she removed the rest deftly, and then shrugged off her lab coat and the shirt under it. His eyes focused on her breasts with an intense alien stare that made her shiver. She leaned forward until her breast brushed his lips, felt the slickness of mako on her nipple and then his mouth parting, his tongue hot and wet.
She reached down between them and found him growing hard, and the moisture on her hands and all over his body made it easy to stroke him and bring him harder. She was so focused on that, and on his mouth on her breast, that she didn't notice his change until the muscles in his thighs rippled and knotted and twisted under her.
She glanced up -- saw the look of startled agony on his face, his pale skin beginning to gray and blue, two long fangs already ruptured from his gums and his arms twisting behind his back, and scrambled backward. She could tell already, even so early in the transformation, that he was not becoming the galian beast, or the death gigas, or the hellmasker. "Holy mother of demons," she breathed. It was too soon -- their projections had indicated that full Chaos transformation shouldn't be possible until genetic absorption reached at least ninety-seven percent, and yet --
His feet twisted, his legs bent, the muscles in his chest tightened and swelled while his belly caved -- she thought she could see his collarbone and sternum writhing beneath his skin, and he made a hoarse, pained noise, which was itself turned incoherent by his forking tongue and the multiplication of fangs in his mouth. He hunched over, suddenly, as far as he could with his wrists bound behind his back -- and she watched his back shudder and then erupt wings, long and slick and dark but fanning themselves to dryness.
Vincent shuddered and gasped, and then shuddered again, his whole body quivering -- wings, back, shoulders, thighs, his newly-avian feet with their long claws twitching. Then his head came up -- his dark hair gone, a spiked crest in its place, and his eyes were not just red but glowing, brighter than anything else in the dark laboratory.
Her gut twisted with terror and lust. "Vincent?" she said, and his eyes shifted from the fierce blank stare of an animal to the focused knowing of a human and back again. She dared move forward again. His hands were still bound, his arms with their corded muscles still limp behind him. "Chaos?" This time the human look lasted longer, but she shuddered with the knowledge that the distant animal look would never entirely go away.
The creature -- Vincent, Chaos -- rumbled long and low, and drew his clawed feet up under him, and then suddenly fanned his wings: fifteen feet of bluegray leather stretched over an architecture of bone, blocking the dim light from the bank of computers behind him. He made a long noise, like a growl or a purr, and his tongue came out to lick his teeth again. She came closer -- heard the high scraping of his talons on the cement floor -- and touched his cheek. She had expected a lizard-roughness to his skin, but it was smooth, and smoother still for the mako that still dripped off his skin.
His eyes faded in and out of coherence. She ran her fingers up to the crest -- not feathers, not hair, something otherworldly -- on his head, and then back down to touch lips spread wide with fangs. He licked her hand. She shuddered, hot, hot despite the cooling liquid on her skin, despite the fact that she was naked to her waist in a lab whose temperature was set to be comfortable for people wearing lab coats over full clothes. She wondered if this was how Hojo felt, his long hours cloistered in the high-security lab with his comatose alien woman.
She touched his chest, slid her hand downward, watching his face -- he said "Lucrecia," but clusmily with his altered mouth, and then snarled, as though speaking was too much effort. He was erect -- erect and enormous, proportional but proportional for a creature ten feet tall and as broad in the shoulder as a bear, and the sight made her flush and slick between her legs as her hands were slick, as his body was slick.
She touched the head of his cock, and he twitched and then his shoulder shifted as if to reach for her -- and the handcuff simply snapped, with a high painful pinging of metal giving way. His hand was enormous, the claws nearly two inches long, but he only scored her skin a little when he traced her breast, and when his claws feathered over her nipple she said, "Oh god."
His arms closed around her -- she could hear the clink of the broken chain hitting the cuffs, still around his wrists -- and pulled her down against him, crudely, so that her still-clothed crotch rubbed against his erection. His grip was not quite tight enough to hurt but he was insistent as Vincent had never been -- Vincent had been gentle, deferential, even shy; Chaos was -- Chaos -- Her chest rubbed against his, her breasts slicking with moisture from his skin. He hooked his claws under the waistband of her pants and she said "Yes" at the same time he tore through them as easy as scissors cutting paper, so that she wasn't sure if he'd done it because she'd consented or she'd consented because he'd done it, but it didn't matter, it didn't, as he tugged them off by shredding -- afterwards she would have to button her jacket closed and hope no one noticed her bare calves on her way back to the room -- and then his hands closed around her thighs and lifted her easily and then turned her over, onto her hands and knees.
She felt hot, electric, swollen, and yet he was so large -- and she had not had sex in a while; Hojo had been so much more interested in the fetus, had shown little interest in her these past months -- that she said, "Wait, wait a moment." She was not sure he understood, or whether he was just readjusting his own position, but it did give her time to drag a hand through the pool of mako on the floor and then press her slick fingers up into herself. It tingled on her skin, warm-and-cold, a prickling like pins and needles but without numbness. She reached back to slick his phallus and then guide him into her, as he leaned over to brace himself, his body so much larger than hers, his claws on the floor a good foot from her own hands.
It did hurt at first -- it was too much, too big, nearly more than she could take, and she heard herself making tiny thin noises as Chaos growled a deep bass note above her. But she was starting to adjust when he thrust, and the mako on her skin, on her back where he pressed against her, tingling on her nipples and sparking deep inside, it made her feel light-headed and dizzy and it was not so much that the pain of the stretch no longer hurt but that it didn't matter. It didn't matter. She heard the snap and whisper of wings and then a shadow fell over them, and she could feel the heat radiating off of Chaos' wings, and when she turned to look back at him his eyes glowed and she couldn't tell if she could see Vincent in them but it didn't matter.
She could see stars and unearthly inhuman voices and a bright void, flashes of water and wings and silver-green ropes, and all the time behind it the low rumble of Chaos' voice and the hot press of his skin on her back and his phallus stretching her past comfort but not quite into numbness so that every movement echoed through her body, hot and tense and tingling. When she cried out and licked her lips she tasted the sharp sweetness. Her skin glowed -- they both glowed -- faintly green and luminous that had nothing to do with reflected light. Her hair clung to her back, fell over her shoulder, its ends soaking in the mako on the floor. She could see his wings working, putting more force behind his thrusts, so that her hands slid on the tractionless floor and she had to brace herself on her forearms.
She curled her hands, and Chaos echoed her, and when he did his claws drew sparks.
And it went on and on, and she saw things -- saw things, swimming before her eyes: Chaos in flight, Vincent's smile and his eyes -- his hazel eyes -- and Hojo, and the alien woman Jenova, and a man with silver hair and high cheekbones, achingly familiar, and --
Chaos snarled and thrust hard, lifting one hand to curl all the way around her thigh and pull her hard against him and she felt him come and thought, giddily, that this was not the most alien thing she had had inside her -- but then started to pull out, and she said, "Not yet -- not yet -- " and he held still a breath and she rocked back onto him, bucking hard against him until the tingling singing that roared over her skin, in her veins, in her ears, before her eyes, coalesced into a moment of light and visions and she came, limp and shuddering. When he let go of her she rolled sideways, not ready even now to actually lie in a puddle of mako.
When she was ready to sit up again, Chaos was Vincent again, looking stunned, dazed, his eyes no longer luminous but puzzled. "Lucrecia," he said, "what -- I -- you...?"
"Yes," she said. She was sticky-soaked and so was he, but that didn't matter for him because he had to go back in the tube. He couldn't survive without mako exposure, not yet, not before they stabilized his DNA -- and at any rate she couldn't leave him out, not when he could transform thus. She kissed him (and now the inside of his mouth did taste of mako, or perhaps she was merely tasting it on her own tongue), and said, "Yes. Vincent."
He closed his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it, but there was too much in his system to clear so easily. She helped him to his feet, and it was touching the way he leaned on her, looked to her, deferential as before and yet with the alien light in his red eyes. "Do I have to g-go back?" he asked. "I just want to be with you a little longer..."
She felt a pang, then, and touched his hair, still damp and now mussed too. "I know," she said. "But yes. You have to. I'm sorry."
He didn't ask questions or protest, which was probably thanks partly to the transformation, partly to his recent orgasm, partly to the mako. He let her lead him back to the tube. She kissed him once again and felt his hand land in her damp hair. Then she drew away and clicked the door shut, triggered the lock, and began the flow of solution back into it.
While he slid back into mako-coma, she hosed the residue down the drain in the center of the floor, disposed of her soaked clothing in the hazardous waste chute, and pulled the lab coat closed over her naked body. It was unlikely that she would be seen at this hour, between the lab and her rooms -- and even more unlikely that Hojo would be there to ask any questions before she could shower and dispose of the coat.
"Good night, Vincent," she said as she shut off the monitors, until the only light came from his tube. "I'm sorry. I'll see you soon."