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kinkfestTitle: Not Heartless
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sumthinlikhuman
Rating: OT
Warnings: yaoi, crossover, rather WAFFy
Prompt: Crossover: Kingdom Hearts/Final Fantasy VII, Cid/Vincent: Homecoming - “‘Bout damn time you came back! Where in th’ Hells have ya been?” “...I missed you, too, Cid.”
Summary: Vincent tracks Cid down. Cid worries about forgetting things.
Notes: For some reason, this was incredibly hard to write. So, finally, I just sat down and wrote and tried not to worry about it too much. Not particularly porny, sorry.
It is sunny, and damn hot, and the sky is clear, and the water cool, and Cid could really use a cigarette and a stiff drink.
“‘Bout damn time you came back! Where in th’ Hells have ya been?”
“...I missed you, too, Cid.”
Vincent hasn’t changed a bit.
-----
Vincent is watching Cid, and Cloud and Yuffie and Aerith and Tifa are watching Vincent, and Leon is just watching them all, arms crossed over his chest and not at all liking the situation, if his poor excuse for body language means a damn thing. Merlin is muttering and flinging things about in a back room and Cid can feel the headache coming on, he can just feel it.
“What’s in your mouth?”
His snide, inappropriate remark—Not you!, because nobody needs to know that, really, they don’t—is swallowed as he chops down on sweetness and paper. He jabs his thumb at Aerith “She don’t let me smoke. It’s a %$#^ing lollipop, is what it is.”
“...She won’t let you smoke?”
“Shuddup,” he grumbles, but there’s no fight in his words as he buries his face in his hands and tries to stave off the nicotine fit.
-----
They stand at the Bailey and look out. The rebuild has left it more attractive than it was before, none of the rubble though Cid still has memories of all the destruction—here, in other places around town, back on Planet where he can see the Heartless coming for them and not knowing what was going on or what to do or—
“I thought you were dead.” He sounds pathetic. Vincent runs his hand through his long hair and sighs a little. His eyes glint with gold in the red when he looks at Cid.
“I think I might have been. Not like there was anything for those—what are you calling them? Heartless—to take, though.”
“Ah, shit, Vince, you’ve got a heart,” Cid gripes, and pulls the lollipop—sixth that day, and they’re practically a fix all on their own; oral fixation, Shera used to say, used to—from his mouth with a little snap of lips over the sticky sweetness. Vincent watches the lollipop with predatory interest, and Cid amuses himself with that.
“Are you so sure I do?”
“Well, you ain’t tryin’ t’ eat me. ‘S a good sign you ain’t Heartless.”
“Yet, Cid,” Vincent corrects softly, and brushes their shoulders together. “We are in public, after all.”
The thrill up his spine is the most real thing Cid’s felt since he woke up delirious and in a world he didn’t recognize.
-----
He shares a house with Yuffie and Aerith in one room, Leon in the attic when the freak actually manages to sleep, and a too-small, too-empty bed in a room that has never been a refuge like the underbelly of an airship.
Vincent unbuckles the claw with diligence and reverence. It isn’t the first time Cid’s seen him do it, but it’s the first time he’s really watched with any real appreciation for what Vincent’s doing: somehow putting his life into Cid’s predominately incapable hands by simply removing what passes for an arm, by showing his debilities and malformations and the fear that lurks in his eyes.
“I have missed you, Cid,” Vincent whispers as Cid douses the light without being asked. The bed sinks. Cid curls his fingers into Vincent’s stick-straight hair and lifts it to his nose and inhales travel and gunpowder and age; it’s always unsettling to think that Vincent was in a coffin while he was in diapers, but he makes himself think of it now because he feels old, with all these young whippersnappers running around doing what AVALANCHE used to do, on a much larger scale.
Vincent chuckles, a smoky, half-breathed noise, and Cid lets himself be pressed into his mattress. “Did that come out?”
“Only the part about young whippersnappers,” Vincent assures. Cid smacks him on the thigh good naturedly, and Vincent scrapes five ragged-nail furrows down his chest with a deep-throated growl.
Cloud and Leon are talking in the sitting room, and Cid knows Vincent must be able to actually make out their conversation—he, in fact, can make out a few words of it; their names, Planet, AVALANCHE, things Cloud doesn’t talk about with anyone he doesn’t trust further than he can throw them (which is most everyone)—and so he focuses Vincent on him, on being back, on being alive. Vincent doesn’t say a word, and that is thanks enough.
It isn’t quite like how it was. There have been a couple of years since they last saw each other. Cid has forgotten. But Vincent guides, memories perfect and welcoming like a summer breeze.
“You never forget, d’ya?”
“...Forget what?”
“Anythin’,” Cid whispers. Vincent runs his teeth along the tendon in Cid’s neck. Cid grabs Vincent’s hips and works himself against them. “You don’t forget nothin’, d’ya?”
“What’s there to forget?”
They tussle for the top, and Vincent invariably wins—he’s stronger than Cid remembers, but Cid’s had some trouble remembering—but as he sinks his hips down, back arched, eyes closed, hand clutching at the sheets by their legs and Cid bucks upward, impatient and remembering just a little, he wonders whether or not they both won.
Vincent is mostly quiet, puffs of breath in the stillness of the summer night, and Cid matches his pace easily. He runs his fingers over the porcelain skin, the hard muscles under scars and fine, dark hair, scrapes furrows to the surface in pink ribbons, and tries to remember: when was the last time? What were the circumstances? Where was it? He doesn’t know the answers anymore, but does know that this isn’t a dream.
He hopes.
“Better not be a dream,” he growls, and Vincent peers down his nose at Cid. He sighs a single chuckle with a breathless little smile gracing mostly in his eyes, rocks his hips to that same primal rhythm, leans down and kisses the breath out of Cid’s mouth.
“I do not think I’m a dream.”
“Good ‘nough.”
-----
When he wakes, Vincent is there, and that is sign enough to him at least that things are starting to take a turn for the better.
He wraps his arms around a slim, lithe torso, and resolves that he’ll wake up in a few hours.
Hopefully, Yuffie won’t have burned down the house by then.
Author:
sumthinlikhumanRating: OT
Warnings: yaoi, crossover, rather WAFFy
Prompt: Crossover: Kingdom Hearts/Final Fantasy VII, Cid/Vincent: Homecoming - “‘Bout damn time you came back! Where in th’ Hells have ya been?” “...I missed you, too, Cid.”
Summary: Vincent tracks Cid down. Cid worries about forgetting things.
Notes: For some reason, this was incredibly hard to write. So, finally, I just sat down and wrote and tried not to worry about it too much. Not particularly porny, sorry.
It is sunny, and damn hot, and the sky is clear, and the water cool, and Cid could really use a cigarette and a stiff drink.
“‘Bout damn time you came back! Where in th’ Hells have ya been?”
“...I missed you, too, Cid.”
Vincent hasn’t changed a bit.
-----
Vincent is watching Cid, and Cloud and Yuffie and Aerith and Tifa are watching Vincent, and Leon is just watching them all, arms crossed over his chest and not at all liking the situation, if his poor excuse for body language means a damn thing. Merlin is muttering and flinging things about in a back room and Cid can feel the headache coming on, he can just feel it.
“What’s in your mouth?”
His snide, inappropriate remark—Not you!, because nobody needs to know that, really, they don’t—is swallowed as he chops down on sweetness and paper. He jabs his thumb at Aerith “She don’t let me smoke. It’s a %$#^ing lollipop, is what it is.”
“...She won’t let you smoke?”
“Shuddup,” he grumbles, but there’s no fight in his words as he buries his face in his hands and tries to stave off the nicotine fit.
-----
They stand at the Bailey and look out. The rebuild has left it more attractive than it was before, none of the rubble though Cid still has memories of all the destruction—here, in other places around town, back on Planet where he can see the Heartless coming for them and not knowing what was going on or what to do or—
“I thought you were dead.” He sounds pathetic. Vincent runs his hand through his long hair and sighs a little. His eyes glint with gold in the red when he looks at Cid.
“I think I might have been. Not like there was anything for those—what are you calling them? Heartless—to take, though.”
“Ah, shit, Vince, you’ve got a heart,” Cid gripes, and pulls the lollipop—sixth that day, and they’re practically a fix all on their own; oral fixation, Shera used to say, used to—from his mouth with a little snap of lips over the sticky sweetness. Vincent watches the lollipop with predatory interest, and Cid amuses himself with that.
“Are you so sure I do?”
“Well, you ain’t tryin’ t’ eat me. ‘S a good sign you ain’t Heartless.”
“Yet, Cid,” Vincent corrects softly, and brushes their shoulders together. “We are in public, after all.”
The thrill up his spine is the most real thing Cid’s felt since he woke up delirious and in a world he didn’t recognize.
-----
He shares a house with Yuffie and Aerith in one room, Leon in the attic when the freak actually manages to sleep, and a too-small, too-empty bed in a room that has never been a refuge like the underbelly of an airship.
Vincent unbuckles the claw with diligence and reverence. It isn’t the first time Cid’s seen him do it, but it’s the first time he’s really watched with any real appreciation for what Vincent’s doing: somehow putting his life into Cid’s predominately incapable hands by simply removing what passes for an arm, by showing his debilities and malformations and the fear that lurks in his eyes.
“I have missed you, Cid,” Vincent whispers as Cid douses the light without being asked. The bed sinks. Cid curls his fingers into Vincent’s stick-straight hair and lifts it to his nose and inhales travel and gunpowder and age; it’s always unsettling to think that Vincent was in a coffin while he was in diapers, but he makes himself think of it now because he feels old, with all these young whippersnappers running around doing what AVALANCHE used to do, on a much larger scale.
Vincent chuckles, a smoky, half-breathed noise, and Cid lets himself be pressed into his mattress. “Did that come out?”
“Only the part about young whippersnappers,” Vincent assures. Cid smacks him on the thigh good naturedly, and Vincent scrapes five ragged-nail furrows down his chest with a deep-throated growl.
Cloud and Leon are talking in the sitting room, and Cid knows Vincent must be able to actually make out their conversation—he, in fact, can make out a few words of it; their names, Planet, AVALANCHE, things Cloud doesn’t talk about with anyone he doesn’t trust further than he can throw them (which is most everyone)—and so he focuses Vincent on him, on being back, on being alive. Vincent doesn’t say a word, and that is thanks enough.
It isn’t quite like how it was. There have been a couple of years since they last saw each other. Cid has forgotten. But Vincent guides, memories perfect and welcoming like a summer breeze.
“You never forget, d’ya?”
“...Forget what?”
“Anythin’,” Cid whispers. Vincent runs his teeth along the tendon in Cid’s neck. Cid grabs Vincent’s hips and works himself against them. “You don’t forget nothin’, d’ya?”
“What’s there to forget?”
They tussle for the top, and Vincent invariably wins—he’s stronger than Cid remembers, but Cid’s had some trouble remembering—but as he sinks his hips down, back arched, eyes closed, hand clutching at the sheets by their legs and Cid bucks upward, impatient and remembering just a little, he wonders whether or not they both won.
Vincent is mostly quiet, puffs of breath in the stillness of the summer night, and Cid matches his pace easily. He runs his fingers over the porcelain skin, the hard muscles under scars and fine, dark hair, scrapes furrows to the surface in pink ribbons, and tries to remember: when was the last time? What were the circumstances? Where was it? He doesn’t know the answers anymore, but does know that this isn’t a dream.
He hopes.
“Better not be a dream,” he growls, and Vincent peers down his nose at Cid. He sighs a single chuckle with a breathless little smile gracing mostly in his eyes, rocks his hips to that same primal rhythm, leans down and kisses the breath out of Cid’s mouth.
“I do not think I’m a dream.”
“Good ‘nough.”
-----
When he wakes, Vincent is there, and that is sign enough to him at least that things are starting to take a turn for the better.
He wraps his arms around a slim, lithe torso, and resolves that he’ll wake up in a few hours.
Hopefully, Yuffie won’t have burned down the house by then.
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no subject
Date: 2008-06-01 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-01 09:46 pm (UTC)“What’s in your mouth?”
His snide, inappropriate remark—Not you!, because nobody needs to know that, really, they don’t—is swallowed as he chops down on sweetness and paper. He jabs his thumb at Aerith “She don’t let me smoke. It’s a %$#^ing lollipop, is what it is.”
“...She won’t let you smoke?"
That whole bit had me giggling my head off for starters, and then the bed scene was just lovely - sort of sad and nostalgic and yet really romantic and sweet at the same time, and it's just wonderful.
*hugs*!
no subject
Date: 2008-06-02 02:42 am (UTC)That line about Cloud talking with Leon made my day ♥ x infinity
no subject
Date: 2008-06-02 03:16 am (UTC)