[Final Fantasy VII] Crumbling
Title: Crumbling
Fandom: FF7
Pairing: Vincent/Cloud
Rating: PG-13
Contains: foreplay
Crumbling
Vincent isn't quite sure how it happens.
One minute, they're sitting quietly in Cloud's room cleaning their weapons - Vincent appreciates the fact that he is not required to talk in order to spend time with Cloud, and thinks that Cloud might feel the same, at least sometimes - and in the next, they're kissing.
Vincent doesn't remember who initiated the kiss anymore - it might have been Cloud, it might have, in fact, been Vincent himself - all he does remember is that Cloud suddenly let the whetstone fall from his hand to stare at it, at its back, at the smooth unmarred skin there, as if expecting it to be somehow different, and not really knowing whether he'd like it to be different or not. Vincent does remember moving closer to put a hand on his shoulder (it's rare for him to touch anyone, these days) and shake him out of his trance, because he knows all too well what happened the last time Cloud went distant like that. He remembers thinking that Tifa was wrong, that Cloud isn't healed - he's pulled himself back together, but the cracks are still there, the new shape still brittle - but he doesn't remember if he said anything, or if Cloud said anything, or how exactly they came to be in their current position.
It's not really important, he decides, not when Cloud's lips are warm and dry against his own, and one of his hands is threading through Vincent's hair. There's a dull thunk as one of them knocks over the sword propped against the bed frame, but neither of them particularly cares. Vincent is trying to remember how this sort of thing is actually supposed to go, it's been a long time since he last kissed someone, anyone, but he thinks it might be something involving his tongue. The first attempt is a little less graceful than he would have liked, it's more a lick than anything else, and there's a flare of light before his closed eyelids that tells him Cloud's eyes just snapped open, most probably in surprise.
Cloud doesn't break the kiss, though, and after a moment's hesitation, returns the gesture with an almost playful swipe of his tongue - how strange, to think of Cloud as playful - but they manage to work it out together, how to kiss without accidentally biting each other's tongues off, and it makes Vincent feel a little better to know that he's not the only one who's a little inept at this sort of thing.
Cloud crowds a little closer to him, sliding a leg across Vincent's thigh, straddling him, and that gives their kisses a new and rather interesting angle, and Vincent finds if he manages to leave Cloud's mouth alone for a second, he can comfortably kiss his throat. Cloud freezes, unsure, and he knows why - the throat's a weak point, after all - so he kisses it again, nips lightly, to show that he knows he has the advantage, but he won't exploit it - ooh, but wouldn't it be nice, a voice like icy oil slides down his spine, wouldn't it be nice to exploit, tear, rip, maim, wouldn't it be pretty to watch the foolish pretty thing drown in its own blood, ooh, wouldn't that be lovely, the foolish foolish pretty, painted red, all red, or maybe green, who knows, maybe pretty's blood is green, not like ours, maybe it's green, hahaha, oh, to find out...
Vincent sends a scathing thought in the creature's direction, and perhaps the concept of shoving a rusty ice pick someplace very uncomfortable is the funniest thing Chaos has been told in a while, because it is cackling while slowly fading away, leaving only blessed silence in its wake. For once, he doesn't have to worry about Chaos too much, other than the creature ruining his impromptu make-out session, because he's fairly sure that, fragile in spirit or no, Cloud could take the overgrown bat down any time, it would just leave both of them a little too exhausted for other things, and this is much too nice to be wasting time thinking about the demons in his mind.
Meanwhile, Cloud's hand has started working on the fasteners of his cloak, but his throat is still bared, his head tilted back, and Vincent takes full advantage of that and dares a not so gentle bite, and Cloud freezes again, a powerful tremble running through his entire body as a choked sound slips from between his parted lips. Vincent can't help but blink in surprise - that was certainly unexpected - but he decides that he likes that sound and wants to hear it again, so he closes his teeth around Cloud's Adam's apple and starts sucking. He is rewarded by a shaky moan and a shift from Cloud, who moves even closer, and then there's a hand parting the lapels of his shirt and slipping inside. Cloud's hand feels warm, is almost too warm in comparison to his own skin, which is always cool, and sliding down his side and up his back, it leaves a trail of fire in its wake, but Vincent has met fire up close and personal, and decides this is a good kind of burning.
Cloud kisses him again because he's become a bit distracted from that lovely throat, and Vincent tries to tug that ridiculous uniform sweater away to see if the rest of Cloud is as warm as his hand, can't get it to move very much - upwards only bunches it under Cloud's armpits, downwards doesn't work at all, and Vincent briefly contemplates abandoning common sense altogether and just shredding the damnable thing with his claw - strange thought, that, when was he last impatient, when did he last want something this badly? - and Cloud pushes him away, a chuckle escaping his lips. Vincent decides he likes the sound of that, too.
Cloud pulls the turtleneck over his head and tosses it to the floor, but Vincent knows better than to look for too long, he doesn't like being stared at, himself, thinks Cloud might feel the same, because five years of being wrapped in poison-green and being dissected under a microscope tend to change people in more ways than just the obvious one, and decides to busy himself with exploring what's been bared for him. He is mindful of his claw, which twitches and flexes slightly, wanting to touch like a flesh hand, but that would turn this whole event into something that would definitely require the first aid kit and earn them a whole lot of questions, and Vincent doesn't feel like saying, I was about to score Strife and we had a little accident with the sharp and pointy side of me, nothing to worry about, go away, so he digs the claws into the mattress to keep them still.
The last clasp of his cloak comes undone, with a slight push, it slides off his shoulders, and there goes Vincent's shirt, too, slips down until it tangles around his forearms. Vincent fights down the urge of wanting to replace the cloak and hide himself again, hide this container of monsters from view, but he knows it isn't fair to Cloud, whose skin will tell similar stories if he looks closely enough, but who still decided that this... thing between them is something worth letting his guard down for. He kisses him again.
An unexpected shove sends Vincent tumbling backwards onto the bed, and unfortunately, he was so distracted that his infamous reflexes deserted him and the claw, still firmly fisted in the bedspread, tears through the covers as he falls, leaving deep vertical gashes in its wake and down bleeding out of them. Well, oops.
Vincent doesn't have time for much more than a not-at-all remorseful thought, because Cloud lands on top of him, or rather, over him, propped on his elbows, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little wild.
The look in those eyes sets off warning bells in his mind, bells that awaken more than a dozen good reasons other than Vincent's own personal hang-ups why they shouldn't be doing this, and only one good reason why they should. It's also the one reason that wins out over all the others.
And that's because, although either of them has yet to say a word, there is still an understanding between them. Red staring into blue.
Help me. Show me. Prove to me that I'm-
- still human -
- not a puppet -
- Yes.
---
A/N: And this is the closest as it gets to a mature rating.
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Fandom: FF7
Pairing: Vincent/Cloud
Rating: PG-13
Contains: foreplay
Crumbling
Vincent isn't quite sure how it happens.
One minute, they're sitting quietly in Cloud's room cleaning their weapons - Vincent appreciates the fact that he is not required to talk in order to spend time with Cloud, and thinks that Cloud might feel the same, at least sometimes - and in the next, they're kissing.
Vincent doesn't remember who initiated the kiss anymore - it might have been Cloud, it might have, in fact, been Vincent himself - all he does remember is that Cloud suddenly let the whetstone fall from his hand to stare at it, at its back, at the smooth unmarred skin there, as if expecting it to be somehow different, and not really knowing whether he'd like it to be different or not. Vincent does remember moving closer to put a hand on his shoulder (it's rare for him to touch anyone, these days) and shake him out of his trance, because he knows all too well what happened the last time Cloud went distant like that. He remembers thinking that Tifa was wrong, that Cloud isn't healed - he's pulled himself back together, but the cracks are still there, the new shape still brittle - but he doesn't remember if he said anything, or if Cloud said anything, or how exactly they came to be in their current position.
It's not really important, he decides, not when Cloud's lips are warm and dry against his own, and one of his hands is threading through Vincent's hair. There's a dull thunk as one of them knocks over the sword propped against the bed frame, but neither of them particularly cares. Vincent is trying to remember how this sort of thing is actually supposed to go, it's been a long time since he last kissed someone, anyone, but he thinks it might be something involving his tongue. The first attempt is a little less graceful than he would have liked, it's more a lick than anything else, and there's a flare of light before his closed eyelids that tells him Cloud's eyes just snapped open, most probably in surprise.
Cloud doesn't break the kiss, though, and after a moment's hesitation, returns the gesture with an almost playful swipe of his tongue - how strange, to think of Cloud as playful - but they manage to work it out together, how to kiss without accidentally biting each other's tongues off, and it makes Vincent feel a little better to know that he's not the only one who's a little inept at this sort of thing.
Cloud crowds a little closer to him, sliding a leg across Vincent's thigh, straddling him, and that gives their kisses a new and rather interesting angle, and Vincent finds if he manages to leave Cloud's mouth alone for a second, he can comfortably kiss his throat. Cloud freezes, unsure, and he knows why - the throat's a weak point, after all - so he kisses it again, nips lightly, to show that he knows he has the advantage, but he won't exploit it - ooh, but wouldn't it be nice, a voice like icy oil slides down his spine, wouldn't it be nice to exploit, tear, rip, maim, wouldn't it be pretty to watch the foolish pretty thing drown in its own blood, ooh, wouldn't that be lovely, the foolish foolish pretty, painted red, all red, or maybe green, who knows, maybe pretty's blood is green, not like ours, maybe it's green, hahaha, oh, to find out...
Vincent sends a scathing thought in the creature's direction, and perhaps the concept of shoving a rusty ice pick someplace very uncomfortable is the funniest thing Chaos has been told in a while, because it is cackling while slowly fading away, leaving only blessed silence in its wake. For once, he doesn't have to worry about Chaos too much, other than the creature ruining his impromptu make-out session, because he's fairly sure that, fragile in spirit or no, Cloud could take the overgrown bat down any time, it would just leave both of them a little too exhausted for other things, and this is much too nice to be wasting time thinking about the demons in his mind.
Meanwhile, Cloud's hand has started working on the fasteners of his cloak, but his throat is still bared, his head tilted back, and Vincent takes full advantage of that and dares a not so gentle bite, and Cloud freezes again, a powerful tremble running through his entire body as a choked sound slips from between his parted lips. Vincent can't help but blink in surprise - that was certainly unexpected - but he decides that he likes that sound and wants to hear it again, so he closes his teeth around Cloud's Adam's apple and starts sucking. He is rewarded by a shaky moan and a shift from Cloud, who moves even closer, and then there's a hand parting the lapels of his shirt and slipping inside. Cloud's hand feels warm, is almost too warm in comparison to his own skin, which is always cool, and sliding down his side and up his back, it leaves a trail of fire in its wake, but Vincent has met fire up close and personal, and decides this is a good kind of burning.
Cloud kisses him again because he's become a bit distracted from that lovely throat, and Vincent tries to tug that ridiculous uniform sweater away to see if the rest of Cloud is as warm as his hand, can't get it to move very much - upwards only bunches it under Cloud's armpits, downwards doesn't work at all, and Vincent briefly contemplates abandoning common sense altogether and just shredding the damnable thing with his claw - strange thought, that, when was he last impatient, when did he last want something this badly? - and Cloud pushes him away, a chuckle escaping his lips. Vincent decides he likes the sound of that, too.
Cloud pulls the turtleneck over his head and tosses it to the floor, but Vincent knows better than to look for too long, he doesn't like being stared at, himself, thinks Cloud might feel the same, because five years of being wrapped in poison-green and being dissected under a microscope tend to change people in more ways than just the obvious one, and decides to busy himself with exploring what's been bared for him. He is mindful of his claw, which twitches and flexes slightly, wanting to touch like a flesh hand, but that would turn this whole event into something that would definitely require the first aid kit and earn them a whole lot of questions, and Vincent doesn't feel like saying, I was about to score Strife and we had a little accident with the sharp and pointy side of me, nothing to worry about, go away, so he digs the claws into the mattress to keep them still.
The last clasp of his cloak comes undone, with a slight push, it slides off his shoulders, and there goes Vincent's shirt, too, slips down until it tangles around his forearms. Vincent fights down the urge of wanting to replace the cloak and hide himself again, hide this container of monsters from view, but he knows it isn't fair to Cloud, whose skin will tell similar stories if he looks closely enough, but who still decided that this... thing between them is something worth letting his guard down for. He kisses him again.
An unexpected shove sends Vincent tumbling backwards onto the bed, and unfortunately, he was so distracted that his infamous reflexes deserted him and the claw, still firmly fisted in the bedspread, tears through the covers as he falls, leaving deep vertical gashes in its wake and down bleeding out of them. Well, oops.
Vincent doesn't have time for much more than a not-at-all remorseful thought, because Cloud lands on top of him, or rather, over him, propped on his elbows, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little wild.
The look in those eyes sets off warning bells in his mind, bells that awaken more than a dozen good reasons other than Vincent's own personal hang-ups why they shouldn't be doing this, and only one good reason why they should. It's also the one reason that wins out over all the others.
And that's because, although either of them has yet to say a word, there is still an understanding between them. Red staring into blue.
Help me. Show me. Prove to me that I'm-
- still human -
- not a puppet -
- Yes.
---
A/N: And this is the closest as it gets to a mature rating.
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