Learning to Live

Author's Notes: Dear God, but it's been a while and for that I do apologize. Thanks to everyone who's still reading this story; life and all that jazz have decided to spam me somewhat unforgivably, therefore rendering me a collapsed heap of mewling patheticness.

BUT! All that aside, here's the next chapter of this delicious baby-epic. More to come and we sincerely hope you guys enjoy!

~Sib and Animenadie




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Vincent:

“You’re welcome,” Vincent rumbled in quiet reply. Cid cocked a brow his way, but Vincent refused to be baited and merely ignored him. Chatter amongst the friends was thick, as always, they playing catch-up as well as other silly games friends do. But the stoic gunman didn’t miss the opportunity to follow the birthday girl from the main room, saying she was going upstairs to get some pictures to show everyone.



Taking the back steps, Vincent met her upstairs, hailing her quietly. “Tifa, I have another gift for you,” he said, a strange sparkle hidden deep in scarlet depths. To her innocent query, he stepped to her and pulled from his pocket another small package, this one merely wrapped in plain white paper.



It was so deviously sweet, he decided, the color that flooded her throat and cheeks as she discovered within the paper an identical undergarment to the one she’d left on his living room floor, save this one was brand new, purchased that morning.



“Didn’t want you to go without,” he chuckled huskily. Juvenile, but he just couldn’t help teasing her about it. Some foreign imp of mischief made him lean down and bestow upon her cheek a soft kiss. “Happy birthday, Tifa,” he whispered, stepping back.



Tifa:

She couldn't help but be hopeful when Vincent caught her upstairs, but his gift put a flood of color to her cheeks that his kiss against her cheek deepened. Her mouth closed at last as he stepped away, and she looked at him from beneath long lashes, "Vincent?"



When he stopped, keeping those red eyes on her - eyes that she had seen alight with such fire - she also couldn't help the words that came next. "I think I deserve a better birthday kiss than that..."



You evil, wanton whore, her mind scolded in such an amused tone. Her guests were downstairs and here she stood in the door to her bedroom, holding a pair of panties that Vincent gave her, and daring him to give her a genuine birthday kiss. For shame...



Vincent:

An eyebrow lifted in surprise. “…do you?” he dimly remembered saying. Why weren’t his motor functions functioning? For a minute, all he could do was blink down at her, wondering just why his feet were rooted to the floor.



She wants you to ravage her again, gunslinger, Vincent heard whispered in his ears. Really, you idiot. Next you’ll be wanting the poor woman to light signal fires and draw road maps before your slow-assed brain can compute.

Red eyes narrowed a fraction as he mentally belted Chaos in the mouth and slammed the door closed on that compartment of his mind.



But the words still rang in his ears and he gradually realized Tifa was staring up at him expectantly. A bit boggled (did she really want him to truly kiss her?), Vincent hesitantly lowered his head again and pressed his lips to hers, involuntarily groaning at the remembered taste that flooded his senses. Unable to help drawing on her lower lip, Vincent snaked his right arm around her waist, maneuvering their bodies closer as he teasingly flicked her lips with just the tip of his tongue before releasing her mouth.



“Better?” he rasped.



Tifa:


For a moment she thought he might topple over, or that she might have to start poking on him to see that he was still breathing, but when Vincent's lips met hers, that delicious taste and the sound of his soft groan revisited, Tifa melted against him. Fingers clutched his silk shirt and she all but swayed when he pulled back.



As she caught her breath, unconsciously licking her lips, Tifa sighed, "Mmm... that'll have to do..." And it would, for guests were waiting, she firmly reminded herself. She let her hands slide down the front of his shirt, dangerously low before they lost contact and she stepped away.



"I... I better get those pictures..." There was more she'd like for her birthday, but Tifa let that show only in the lingering gaze over her shoulder at him, eyes hints at the eyes giving hints of the sparks they'd held one long night little over a week ago.



His latest gift was tucked in her dresser, then she retrieved the photo album and returned downstairs, carefully back the way she'd come instead of following him the back way, and her body wanted to do.



Vincent:

Rediscovered lust, have we? We’re becoming more aware every day, gunslinger.



A low dangerous growl passed Vincent’s lips as he descended the back stairs. He should leave now, he thought wildly, before he subjected himself to more torture of a nature he damned sure didn’t need.



Stay awhile, gunslinger, Chaos purred. I could use the entertainment. Thus providing a hairline crack in Vincent’s iron self-control and willpower, which was exactly what the madness in his seething brain wanted. And be damned before that happened again.



Once on the bottom floor, Valentine debated either turning right, which lead to the main room and his “friends”, or left, which led to the back parking lot and escape from temptation.



Ah, that was indeed the word. When in Gaia’s name had she turned into a temptation, he thought wildly.



Hm, let’s see, came the snarked answer. Perhaps it was when she kissed you for the first time? Or maybe it was when she started riding you like a-



“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed through clenched teeth. A low purred chuckle was his only answer. He should leave. He should leave. He should-



“Vincent?” Marlene’s youthful voice permeated his fog of emotion. She stood in the doorway, looking at him quizzically. “You gonna hang out in the back or come out here with us?”



Bloody hell.



Thwarted, the gunman allowed himself to be led back into the front room, taking his previous seat at the table and suffering the little girl to climb on his knee and proceed to regale him with the latest adventures of spending the summer with her father and Denzel. Tifa appeared a moment later; Vincent didn’t even have to look up to notice, because the tension in the room, to his brain, skyrocketed like a chocobo on greens.



Through his peripheral vision he saw her resume her seat, sharing the photos with Yuffie and Shera; Denzel was enraptured with a conversation between Barret and Cloud, Cid was helping himself to more birthday cake. Listening to Marlene with half an ear, Vincent’s traitorous brain, aided by his male body, entertained wild fantasies of vanilla icing, Tifa Lockheart and that long hard table in the corner…



Tifa:

Too caught up in trying to ignore her own temptation to take note of the possibility of Vincent's, Tifa carried on idle conversation with the two other adult females in the room, showing them all the pictures she'd taken of the group, recent and times past. There was picture of a rather perturbed Cloud from years ago, dolled up in a dress and ready to take the prostitution business by storm at the Honey Bee Inn. That picture drew so many guffaws from Yuffie that she felt the need to parade it around the room, much to a chocobo-head's chagrin.



The afternoon was spent in much the same way, with the men eventually talking the birthday girl into a game of poker. When she’d won three hands and lost one, Cloud folded and opted to watch, helping himself to another piece of cake. That left her, Yuffie, Barret and Cid, and one chair empty. It wasn't as if they were losing gil, they played for - quite literally - peanuts. Tifa had insisted, with the children present and all.



Spying the elusive little secret of hers still sitting at a table entertaining the kids, Tifa gave an impish grin and called. "Hey, Vincent! Come one, there's an empty seat..."



Cid took another drag from his cigarette and waved an arm, "Get over here, Vince. I'm the only sum'bitch that's beat 'er so far..." The cursing earned him a quick cuff on the back of the head from his wife.



Vincent:

Vincent glanced up as Tifa called, daring to grin at Cid’s commentary. Marlene took her book and slid down from Vincent’s lap as he rose, heading over to color with Denzel. The gunslinger settled into Cloud’s vacated chair and sighed softly.



“I have to warn you, I haven’t played poker in nearly thirty years. More than rusty, I’d assume.”



Cid snorted. “’s what degreaser’s made for, man.” Everyone chuckled as Tifa dealt the next round and Barret tossed Vincent a handful of peanuts.


Taking up his cards, Vincent gazed at them carefully, inconspicuously glancing at the others around the table. Barret frowned, Cid chomped his cigarette, Tifa’s serene face never changed expression. The other men asked for two cards, Vincent asked for three. Receiving them, he looked back at his hand. Three eights and two kings. Full House. Not bad, for his first try.



Selecting five nuts, he slid them forward to the table’s center. Cid, a brow lifted, matched them and added two more. Barret put in seven and waited for Tifa.



Tifa:

The luck of the draw was with her this time, and she hadn't even had to exchange a single card. She waited for the men to up the bets. Yuffie whined and folded. Tifa kept her smirk to herself. She'd known from the start Yuffie had drawn a bad hand since the ninja had the poker-face of an exuberant three-year-old. Cid and Barret were much better, but subtle changes in their posture gave them away most often. Vincent though...



She looked across the table at the gunman who seemed as cool and unreadable as she had learned to be, and then some.



I could fuck you forever and never get enough. She flushed almost instantly and took a sip of her punch to hide behind the cup. Where the hell had that popped up from?



Taking a breath, Tifa called, matching Barret's raise. The hands still playing were shown, Barret having bluffed. His hand was poor, a low three of a kind, Cid's was better but not by much. Vincent was her best competition. The best, but not good enough as Tifa revealed four queens and a lonely jack.



With a girlish grin she pulled the piled of peanuts over to her growing stash, one to make a squirrel proud.



"Aw shit, I swear you cheat, birthday girl..." It was obvious Cid didn't mean it, but his scowl was genuine enough.



"Sorry boys... try again?" She looked particularly at Vincent when she spoke, a sparkle of victory in her eyes.



Vincent:

It didn’t surprise him that Tifa won yet again. The others around the table were terrible at this game, they unable to hide their expressions. The term “poker faces” didn’t apply to this motley crew. Vincent chuckled silently. Sanguine eyes lifted to meet warm sable after he laid down his cards and he nodded.



Cid took the deck, it being his turn to shuffle and deal. The following hands were predictable. Barret kept losing and finally ran out of peanuts, deciding to call it quits and just watch along with Cloud. Yuffie won two hands, which boosted her squealing enthusiasm but she unsurprisingly let it get the best of her and finally lost all her peanuts on one bold hand as Vincent laid down a straight flush. She pouted at him, which went unnoticed and withdrew from the game to cavort with the children.



Cid, Vincent and Tifa remained. The ashtray at Cid’s elbow steadily filled as the pilot went through smoke after smoke. Cid’s luck was unsteady; he’d win a few, lose horribly then win enough to keep him in the game again. Tifa was the steady winner, but it was gradually coming back to Vincent. Memories of his Turk days resurfaced in his mind, although they were fuzzy and unclear. But the nuance was the same; playing cards with friends and just enjoying life. Well, that he could do. And so he did.



At his next turn to deal, he did so, sensitive fingers working the edges of the cards, feeling them, their weight, texture. As he turned his hand over, his face remained as unreadable and bland as ever, although a small spark lit behind the crimson depths as he glanced up at the birthday girl.




Cid just snorted and threw down his cards. “Fuck that, I’m out,” he grumbled, crossing arms over his chest.




Vincent cocked an eyebrow at Tifa and placed one peanut in the middle of the table. “Your bet,” he said smoothly, rich baritone giving away nothing.



Tifa:

Lashes lowered over dark eyes as Tifa studied her only remaining opponent. Vincent was quickly settling back into what had apparently come as an easy game for him. His expression was perfect, betrayed nothing, and Tifa found herself wondering if anything short of her ripping her shirt off and hopping in his lap might break it.



The barest hint of a smile showed as she exchanged one card, then raised the bet by five nuts. While her hand pushed the bet forward, her bare right foot crept across the floor beneath the table to tickle against his ankle.




"I'll see that, and raise you five," she said, stating the obvious as she settled comfortably in the chair. Her toes slid under his pants-leg to deftly tug his sock down enough to let her feel a little skin. She hadn't guessed the odd-ball skill would come in handy, but Tifa could damn near pick a coin off the floor with her toes.



Everyone remained unaware of her actions, save for the recipient of her distracting behavior, thanks to the table cloth that went far down enough to obstruct the view from anyone standing or sitting nearby.



Vincent:

A black eyebrow arched. The others doubtless thought it because of the card game, but Vincent quite knew better. He remained immobile as he felt Tifa’s prehensile toes assaulting his leg. But he quietly cleared his throat and shifted just slightly in his chair, deftly picking out ten more peanuts and increasing the bet by five. A sly half smirk curved Vincent’s lips as he nodded once to Tifa. The heat in his gaze wasn’t just from the poker game.



“Seen, and raised by five. Your bet, Tifa.” He wasn’t about to let this get away from him.



Tifa:

Ahhh... So the great Vincent Valentine wasn't impervious to distractions. Still with her toes playing around in the cuff of his pants, Tifa slid about a third of her pile across the table to the pot, raising it yet again with twinkle in her eyes.



"Raise you twelve, Valentine. Back to you."



The pretense was made of her crossing her legs and slouching in her chair, yet what the fighter really did was to extend her left leg up to brush high over the inside of Vincent's left thigh. Only her ankle moved, and not another soul in the room was aware of the motion, let alone where it wandered.



Vincent:

Such a tease…



Vincent suppressed a growl as her toes wandered higher. But he kept a straight face, nonchalant as ever and simply picked out the appropriate number of peanuts and added fifteen more this time.



Cid’s eyebrows lifted as he glanced at the growing pile of peanuts. “Hell, one o’ ya gotta peach hand o’ cards,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair.



Vincent’s lips simply held their small half-smile as he glanced up at the birthday girl across from him. Leaning to the right a bit, he lowered his gloved left hand as if to dig in his pants pocket but long fingers swiftly circled around the naughty ankle and delivered a swift rough caress to the tender skin before releasing.



Completing the motion, Valentine’s hand returned with a handful of his candy, one of which he slipped into his mouth, relishing the sweetness of fruity watermelon.



Tifa:

She fought down a shiver from the rough contact against her leg, yet kept it where it was and found herself craving one of those candies he liked so much.



All or nothing, Teef. Go for it. Tifa matched, and in a bold move, slid all of her winnings into the middle. She hadn't made an exact count of his nuts (and she mentally reminded herself that those nuts were not the ones in question) but she knew he'd be hard pressed to match her this time. Unless he could bet something else...



"Seen and raised by seventeen. Man enough to cover that?" she teased, and Cid chuckled, seeing only the peanuts on the table and not the foot that now briefly kneaded at the gunman's crotch every so often.



Vincent:

Again, a black eyebrow lifted. Studiously (desperately) ignoring the wicked toes that plucked at the zipper of his slacks - You know you enjoy it, gunslinger, after this game you should toss her over your shoulder, haul her upstairs and ravage her…again. Might shock everyone else but both of you would enjoy it, methinks - Vincent tapped fingers of his right hand against the table and after a moment’s consideration, placed all his peanuts in the middle of the table, as well as his entire stash of candy.



“Quite, Tifa. I think I can handle anything you chance to throw at me.” He tilted his head. “And since we’re both out of betting material, I call.”



With perfect precision, Vincent expertly, albeit slowly, lay down his cards. “Royal flush,” he intoned, the black cards stark in the light. “House of Spades.”



Tifa:

Tifa stared at the cards he lay before her, eyes widening and toes pressing into his groin as a sweet smile formed on her lips. Her hand would have beaten anything, except for a like hand of a higher rank, like the one he happened to possess. The ace-low "steel wheel" was practically wasted as Tifa gave a small wave goodbye to her former winnings and Cid guffawed something awful at her misfortune.



The pilot slapped his knee and lit another cigarette, "Damn, Val, remind me to get you in on all the games we play against the lil' miss. Hell, I ain't never seen her put it all in and lose like that!"



Tifa rolled her eyes and withdrew the teasing foot to scuff it against Cid's shin under the table. He only offered a half-hearted complaint and grinned at her.



"Oh hush, Cid. I'll get the both of you next time, and you know it." She looked particularly to Vincent with one brow raised and a small, knowing smirk that said more for "next time" than a card game.



Vincent:


Vincent’s face betrayed no emotion; he merely nodded and returned her the cards. “I’d think the entertainment enough for this evening.”



Everyone muttered some form of agreement and began stirring from their respective places. The kids began finagling for more cake but Barret sternly reprimanded that notion, saying no more sugar for the rest of the day.



Yuffie seconded the motion about being hungry but cut Tifa off before she could offer to fix something. “Nope! It’s your birthday; you’re not doing anything of the sort!”



Cloud grinned and resumed his seat beside the fighter. “Why don’t we order pizza? It’s fast and relatively cheap.”



Yuffie nodded, bouncing off the counter, heading for the phone. “Good idea!” she beamed, leafing through Edge’s phonebook, searching for the nearest place. After she made the order, she frowned and hung up. “They don’t deliver on Sundays, drat it. Someone’ll have to go pick it up.”



Cloud blinked then scratched his head. “Er, I doubt all those boxes would fix on Fenrir.”



Before he could ask, Vincent spoke up. “I’ll go and get them. I have a backseat.”



Cid chortled. “Yeah, wouldn’t surprise me if you was using that backseat for more than just haulin’ pizza, Valentine.”



The gunman glowered at the grinning pilot. “At least my equipment doesn’t need servicing after every use, Highwind.”



Cid spluttered and glared back. “Shaddup! The Shera’s in perfect condition, ingrate! Least you could do is make sure yer bunkmate gets all of ‘er underwear when she leaves!”



Every eye in the room turned at that one. Vincent stood in the face of his compatriot’s shocked silences, his stoic countenance betraying nothing as usual, but fine lines of anger began to crease along his brow.



Nostrils pinched white but he replied, “Such is not a discussion I wish to have with you, Captain. Nor is this the day or time for it. Now, excuse me.”



So wanting to throttle Cid, Valentine turned on a heel and exited the bar, closing the door behind him and taking a deep breath. But he shook his head and started for the car.



Tifa:

Tifa's face went bright red and her hand covered her open mouth, yet it wasn't from exactly the same type of shock showcased in all the other faces. Positively mortified, more for Vincent than herself (although there was a healthy portion for her, as well) Tifa recovered just as Vincent walked out the door. She glared at Cid and stalked to the door after the gunman.



"What??" the blond asked, hands out to the side.



"That was uncalled for Cid; you know how Vincent is about his... personal life."



Cid scowled and crossed his arms. "Yeah well, 'bout time he got over it. Man's been a damn prude since we've known 'im. He's gotta loosen up. So where you goin'?"



Tifa rolled her eyes and replied, opening the door. "With him. He walked out before I could ask him to add cheese-sticks and marinara sauce, thanks to you!"



Yuffie finally found her voice enough to pipe in, "Yeah! Darn you Cid! I knew I was forgetting something..."



While Cid sulked, the rest of the room erupted in last-minute add-ons or reminders, to which Tifa nodded and made as hasty a retreat as possible. "Be back in a little while!"



The door closed behind her and she sighed, then jogged to Vincent's car just as the transmission shifted into drive. Waving for him to stay put, Tifa went around and opened the passenger's side door, plopping in and exhaling.



The sound of the door shutting and her seat-belt clicking were the only breaks in heavy silence, then with a sheepish tone she spoke. "I'll help you with the pizza... it's a big order. And I wanted cheese-sticks."



A short pause, then, "Cid didn't mean to offend you, he's just an ass like that. You ok?" Tentatively, her left hand reached over to thread fingers with his right.



Vincent:

It took Vincent turning the key in the ignition before he remembered where he was going, so irritated was he. To get pizza, yes. But before he could squeal tires out of the parking lot, such a juvenile display, a familiar figure appeared in his vision, waving for him to stop. He did so and Tifa plunked down in the passenger seat.



He didn’t answer as she buckled her seat belt and added on to their order, simply sat in silence. But he sighed heavily at the mention of Cid and drove forward, letting her lace their fingers together.



Turning onto the street, he finally said, “Cid is an ass. That’s not news.”



Vincent kept his eyes on the road. “I’m fine, Tifa. And…I’m sorry. For forgetting…about that.”




A very faint flush colored his neck. “Unused to having visitors is my only excuse.” Gods, but this was so awkward!



Tifa:

She chuckled softly at his affirmation on Cid's most obvious quality, then shook her head at his apology. "No, it's alright. Obviously he didn't know whose they were, and it's you who got incriminated by them. I was going to throw them away, but I sorta missed the trash can..."



A helpless shrug at that while she watched the scenery go by. Tifa's hand squeezed his gently, feeling the softness of leather that still didn't compared to skin. With a small frown she looked down at Vincent's hand. "Can I take this off?"



Without really waiting for an answer, her fingers began peeling the glove from his right hand, then in a childish moment slid the leather over her own hand, comparing their sizes. Though slender compared to some men, Vincent's hands were still a bit larger than her own, particularly in the length of his fingers.



A small giggle as she held his hand again, still looking at the glove remaining on her own. Things still felt more than a little awkward, yet Tifa had more concern for how it made him feel than for herself. She knew she could handle such a fumbling situation, where she didn't really know where to go but forward.



Story of her life, that. A tragedy here and there, compounding bumbles and mess-ups with a healthy dose of frustration, but it all landed her where she was today. Now, she only had to figure out where the hell that was. Physically, she was in a car, with Vincent, going for pizza on her birthday. Emotionally, she was being snatched between too many directions. Mentally, she was in his pants.



"It's probably going to take them another twenty minutes to get the pizzas done after we get there." She wasn't sure why she felt the need to bring that up, but it caused a small flush in her cheeks. Quickly, she groped around for a reason.



"So... I guess we could just sit in the car and talk... if you want to." Talk. Yes, that.