Beneath the Red

Beneath the Red

Chapter Five
Bottled Secret

Cid blew it. He knew he did. Vincent no longer replied to Cloud’s
requests to accompany him Materia hunting. He had even been
cruel enough to say at one point of the pestering, “When you are
finished playing and decide to move on to North Crater, you may
rouse me. Otherwise, kindly get the hell out of my room.”

Cloud took it harder than Cid thought he would, but that was farthest
from his mind. It had been something he said—something in the way
that he had demanded for a follow-through had offended the shadowy
man and had driven him back into his hole. Cid couldn’t stand it that
he was suffering alone in his room full of the blackest, most soul
shattering nightmares imaginable.

He could do nothing. Vincent wouldn’t even reply to him, and no reminders
that he hadn’t eaten for two days or that they were passing a shop that
sold high caliber ammunition for some of his rarer firearms could lure
him out. Cid couldn’t find it in him to just give up on the guy like he
would with any other love interest. A glance into his most personal thoughts
shouldn’t be thrown aside lightly. He found himself passing Vincent’s door
to and from the deck more often, though it was well out of his way.

Cid cringed whenever he faintly heard the staticy voices from the Specimen 9
videos, knowing that Vincent was forcing himself to relive the torture. He was
picking at the scab, not letting it heal. Most of the time there was silence.
If it was exceptionally late at night, perhaps a sound that could be mistaken
for quiet weeping could be heard if Cid’s ear was pressed against the door.

He had already pounded on the door and threatened to break it down, but
Vincent remained untouchable. He could have used his keys, but he
didn’t dare. At first anyway. What could possibly be destroying Vincent
at this quick a pace? Circumstance?

Cid was at wits end. At last, one evening when he was sure all his crew and
the AVALANCHE members were all asleep, he fished out his keys from one
of his many pockets and allowed himself into the confines of Vincent’s room
once again, bracing himself for venomous looks, harsh words and possibly
even violence.

Vincent, Cid was shocked to see, was sound asleep. He was sprawled across
the sheets on his stomach, claw firmly clenching a pillow that was a little
worse for wear from this habit. His hand was wedged between the mattress
and the pillow his head was under, his hair slightly tangled and his heavy
breathing produced a soft snore every couple breaths.

Human. Almost too human…

Cid’s eyes drank in the sight of his naked torso, pale and ribby, marred with
scars but beautiful all the same, with a perfectly shaped spine that disappeared
under the pants he slept in. His legs were tangled in the sheets he had cast
off, twitching in a dream.

He wasn’t sleeping so soundly as it seemed at first glance. The expression
on his face was neither the stoic plastic one he cast all day, nor the peaceful
slack of sleep, but a troubled one with his eyebrows knit together and a tiny
frown. Cid didn’t dare wake him from his incoherent mumblings.

Instead, he found himself yet again sifting through Vincent’s hard drive,
determined to put an end to this particular outlet of masochism. He hadn’t
changed to password, so it was easy enough to dump the contents of
Specimen 9 into the recycle bin, empty the bin, clear the cookies and shred
the remains of the compressed binary code that tormented him.

“Stop!”

Cid nearly choked on his cigarette, expecting Vincent to fling him around
like a doll again, but looking over his shoulder he saw that Vincent was
only talking in his restless nightmare. He had rolled onto his back and his
fist was clenched, but Cid breathed again. False alarm.

Now for the hard copy…

Specimen 9 was easy to obtain—it was sitting in the drawer. One of the
few things that Vincent actually used it for. Vincent’s dream was taking a
rather bad turn at this point, judging from his more helpless murmurs.
Cid decided to leave before he woke from—

“Lucretia!” he cried hoarsely, sitting bolt upright, eyes wide and breath fast.
He focused directly on the frozen Cid, coming out of his fog quickly. Cid
saw his bewilderment immediately turn to an unwelcome scowl. “What…?”
His eyes spotted the disc. “Traitor!” he snarled, lunging for it.

Cid acted on adrenalin alone. Jolting out of his stupor he just barely darted
out of the way of Vincent’s initial attack. Had ha been fully awake Cid was
sure that he wouldn’t have been able to pull that stunt off. Still acting on
adrenalin, more worried about the disc than himself, Cid chucked it across
the room and against a wall as Vincent got a grip around his collar. The disc
shattered into a million pieces and Cid found himself flung up and over, then
down onto the bed, facing a furious upside-down Vincent.

“You idiot!” Vincent hissed, not taking time to find any elaborate vocabulary
in his fury. Gone was the composure of his previous outburst, though he
looked far calmer than any other man in a similar position. “What did you
think you were accomplishing!?”

Cid gasped as the golden claw pushed hard on his breastbone, constricting
his breathing. “I… wanted to help!”

“What made you THINK—,”

Cid gripped the claw and used all of his strength to push it back enough so
he could gulp air in. Vincent was about to crush his chest in! “If you wanna
kill yourself go jump off the deck, don’t do it here—rotting like a piece of shit!
Meteor would get you first you selfish bastard!” he shouted boldly. “I’m doing
you a favor! So go ahead, kill me—you won’t get a chance to thank me later,
fucker!”

Vincent didn’t break the intense gaze they held, nor did he release Cid.
There were no words exchanged for a silence that stretched unbearably long.
And then Cid’s chest started to bounce slightly—he was rasping out laughter.
Vincent seemed a little to startled to stay as infuriated as he was.

“Heh heh…I’m getting déjà vu, aren’t you Vince?” Cid chuckled. His insides
were quivering, making the laugh a little high pitched, but the irony of the
situation was laughable…

Vincent pulled back suddenly, drawing into himself as if he were cold. “You’re
right… I’m a fool…”

“Hey, don’t kick yourself…” Cid retorted, sitting up and rubbing the bruise. “It’s
just a disc…” Vincent gave him a look that Cid had no choice but to agree with.
He knew damn well that it wasn’t just a disc. “Vince…” Cid sighed. “You
gotta put a stop to this shit. What happened to healing?”

“My punishment is not finished—,”

“Oh come off that shit!” Cod snapped firmly. He was ordering Vincent now, not
just telling him. He wasn’t sure how effective it would be, but asking obviously
wasn’t cutting it. “You’re just cramming that bull ‘cause you’re too pussy to let it
go! Be a man, dammit! Stop crying over a chick that’s long gone, deal with the
fact that you were taken advantage of and concentrate on what’s under your nose!
Jesus Christ!” Cid swore frantically.

Vincent looked like Cid had just punched him in the gut. Cid immediately regretted
being so harsh and moved to apologize with some contact—where not even Cid
was sure—but Vincent pushed him back, eyes closed in his quiet but frantic thoughts.

He took a shaky breath and spoke—as composed as he could manage. “I… don’t
think it was right of you to act so rashly without my permission…but…”

“But…”

“You’re right. I should be thanking you.”

Cid was not expecting these words, and his surprise must have shown. Vincent was
watching him with a curious scrutiny. “Shoes,” he suddenly said.

Cid blinked. “Huh?” Had he finally cracked?

“Your shoes. I don’t like them on my sheets.”

“Oh,” Cid replied in understanding. That translated to either “Get out of my
bed,” or “Get undressed.” They had two very dramatically different meanings
and a mistake in understanding would lead to either disaster or disappointment.
Cid had no intention of leaving just yet, so he risked disaster and pulled off his
shoes as he sat in the tangle of sheets. That fact alone made him feel hot
and fact that Vincent was only half dressed and a few inches away threatened to
make him hard. So he took off his socks as well, and on a strange impulse his
jacket too. Beater, jeans, boxers and cigarette. That was all he had left now.
“Happy?”

As if to say, “One last thing…” Vincent reached towards Cid’s lips, removed the
cigarette and extinguished it on the bedpost, leaning very, very close. The heat
of him made Cid antsy, but his soft breath so near his neck made him lose
control and go hard immediately. If Vincent had been testing him to see how
much he could take his lost quickly.

Unable to take anymore, Cid wrapped his arms around Vincent and planted a
rough kiss onto his lips. The force of it threw them back and Cid lost all restraint,
holding him down and exploring his neck, ears and that hollow in the collar bone,
so smooth and pale—but so very hot and pulsing.

Vincent allowed it and seemed swept away with it, though he made no sound
of approval or dislike. His breath was ragged and his hand gripped at Cid’s
shirt in a sort of desperate way, his claw clenching tightly at the mattress.

Cid was bound and determined to make him enjoy this. He wanted him to
moan, scream and cry out his name—just to prove to Vincent that he was still
human and there was something most definitely worth living for in this world…
something worth saving it for. The buckle that had so confounded him on his
first attempt to “seduction” gave easily and all the prove Cid needed to continue
jumped out at him, hard and slick with all the signs of need for attention.

He heard a sharp gasp as his devoured to core of Vincent, but it wasn’t quite what
he wanted to hear. Cid felt blood rush to his ears—the sensation was odd. If
he remembered correctly he’d choked, cursed and sworn the action off forever
as a teen. But to frantically give pleasure, desperate for a cry, a whisper…
something to show that it felt at least alright… that was new and exhilarating.

Vincent's fingers were blindly and repeatedly digging into Cid’s scalp but his hair
wasn’t long enough to pull. It was encouraging, so Cid brought his entire mouth
down, accepting Vincent’s whole length to the back of his throat. It was so
masculine, so sexy, so Vincent and once again there was a ragged gasp,
but no cry of pleasure, no words, no pleas and no begs for mercy.

Something that Shera had taught him once upon a long time ago drifted into
his mind—subtlety. Instant gratification was nice, but not memorable. Cid
forced himself to slow down, draw the sensation out and even tease mercilessly.
Vincent was going to scream, dammit, and love it.

A longing noise rose from him as Cid paid homage only to the very head of his
cock. Not quite a groan, but an indication that he wanted more. Not good
enough. Cid refused to fulfill until he got what he wanted. And given the blush
rising in Vincent’s face it had to be any minute now…

“Cid please!” he finally gasped, trembling with his restraint.

Cid found himself laughing quietly and gave him what he wanted, resuming a
wild pace of driving his head down and engulfing the slippery member, giving
all the pressures and teases in all the right spots, then withdrawing to immediately
swallow whole again. Vincent's moans were almost inaudible, but there and
slowly building momentum as he approached climax.

At last Vincent let out a stifled cry and poured his release into Cid’s mouth.
Cid winced, but swallowed. Not a pleasant feeling, but well worth it to hear
something that resembled orgasm. Cid was painfully hard, and the
need to take action soon was overwhelming.

Vincent was studying him closely now—Cid knew he must look pretty disheveled.
He sat up and continued unfinished kisses, hot but soft, frantic but not overbearing.
Between half muttered desires and a lingering unspoken bond some sort of
loose plan of action formed.

“Do you want to…?”

“Yeah…”

“Lay back.”

Cid did as he was told, wonder swirling around in his lust-hazed thoughts.
He wasn’t in control anymore and suddenly he was a little unnerved. His unease
passed quickly though, once Vincent had his rock-hard erection out, pumping
it in a hypnotically delicious rhythm. Cid moaned loudly, at last given the
attention he needed. It wouldn’t take much more…

Vincent brought him to the very edge when his tongue ran circles down the
length of Cid’s shaft. Bastard had experience, but of course he wouldn’t say
anything. Cid felt more blood rush to his head… he was about to…

But Vincent pulled away at the last second. Cid groaned and cursed, defeated.
He quickly forgave Vincent thought when he straddled, facing away from him
and lowered himself onto his slick hard sex, slowly clenching and unclenching,
sending ripples of “holy fuck!!” as Cid thought of it.

Definitely experienced.

It didn’t take much longer at all. Cid was spent in a few minutes, wrapping
his arms around Vincent’s skinny torso and doing his best to match pace. Then
with a long cry, it was over and Cid caught his breath with his face berried in the
long tendrils of hair, arms still locked around his lover in a strange sort of
afterglow.

There was a silence—not an awkward one, but it still hung about in the room,
amplifying the slow of breathing and the smell of sweat and sex in the air. It
also amplified the sudden footsteps outside the door. They were walking
away—whoever they belonged to had been standing there long enough to know.

“Who the fuck—?!” Cid demanded, shifting to get up.

“Ah. That would be the circumstance,” Vincent said thoughtfully, as if nothing had
occurred for the past hour.

Vincent’s circumstance… no you can’t be serious…

Can you?

End of chapter five
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