Kitchen Play

Dedicated to Koo and Fira Flame, for without one's boredom and the other's ideas, this would never exist.

Don't own em, don't sue me.

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Vincent realized that Cid had spent way too long getting ice cream from the kitchen. He should have been back by now. Unfolding from the couch, the gunman walked over to the swinging kitchen door. His sharp hearing caught movement from the other side, then the whirring of some sort of appliance, then a splash and a curse. He pushed open the door to see Cid standing at the counter, his huge, old t-shirt covered in swirls of brown and white. A splash of the stuff arced up one cheek, and more dripped from the cupboard doors. The pilot was looking disgusted, angry and sheepish, glaring at the blender, which was half full of the stuff. Next to it sat a bottle of chocolate sauce and an open jar of marshmallow cream, which explained what the stuff was. Vincent couldn't help a small chuckle, which made Cid turn to glare at him. "Yeah, haha," The pilot grumbled. "Laugh it up, asshole."

"What in Odin's name have you been doing?" Vincent questioned, crossing his arms. "Did you and the blender get into a fight?"

Cid rolled his eyes, grabbing a sponge from the sink and wiping at the stuff on the cupboard doors. "I realized we only had vanilla ice cream, and I wanted some more flavor." He explained, wiping up the mess. "And I couldn't decide, chocolate or marshmallow, so I decided to combine them." He wrung out the sponge and continued wiping the counter, sheepishly not meeting Vincent's eyes. "I turned the damn thing on high and...er...forgot to hold down the top when I pressed the button." Which resulted in a chocolaty fountain of goo, Vincent realized. He chuckled again as Cid wiped the last of the confection off the counter and cupboards, glaring. The gunman moved to lean against the table that crowded the center of the room as Cid finished, dumping the sponge in the sink. Then, looking at himself in disgust, the pilot stripped off his shirt.

Vincent let out a soft sigh of admiration, running hungry eyes over the pilot's muscled back and still-messy shoulders as he turned towards the sink to rinse out his shirt. The loose sweat pants he'd been wearing rode low on his hips, barely caught up on his hips, revealing an enticing amount of skin that made Vincent's lips dry and his pants tight. Silently, Vincent edged around the table and slid his mismatched arms around Cid's waist, tugging him back. Cid stiffened in surprise, dropping his shirt to the sink. Vincent smiled against the pilot's ear. "You're still all messy, Chief." He murmured. His tongue flicked out, catching a bit of chocolate from along his lover's neck and Cid groaned softly, leaning back into his embrace. Vincent's lips moved lower, licking and sucking the sticky confection from the other man's skin. He felt Cid tremble slightly in his arms as his teeth ghosted over his skin, then Vincent found himself crushed between Cid and the refrigerator, the pilot's lips and tongue having a furious battle with his own.

Cid sank both hands into Vincent's hair, pulling him as close as possible, rolling his hips against the gunman's. Vincent moaned into their fierce kiss, bucking back against him, lifting one leg to encircle his waist and pull him ever closer. The kiss broke for a gasping, shuddery moment as they looked at each other, eyes locked in quick debate.

The second-long debate ended when Vincent decided for them both, pushing Cid onto his back on the table, scattering a bowl of apples that had set in the center. Cid relented, wrapping his legs around Vincent and dragging him between his thighs to grind up against him. Vincent attacked Cid's shoulder with his mouth, the tastes of chocolate and marshmallow and sweat and desire flooding across his tongue. Cid arched his back, gasping, his hands clawing at Vincent's shirt, dragging it from his body, then going to work on the fastenings of the gunman's slacks.

Vincent stepped back long enough to divest them both of the rest of their clothing, then paused. Their usual lubricant was all the way upstairs, and painful experience had taught them that dry was a definite mistake. But was he really going to take Cid here on the kitchen table? Looking at the gasping, heavy-lidded, lust-eyed man below him, he decided that yes, yes he was. For one, he wanted this now. Two, this way he wouldn't get chocolate on the bedsheets. Three, it was kind of thrilling to know that if anyone came to knock at the back door, they'd get one hell of a shock through the window.

"Val?" Cid half-questioned, half begged, his voice husky with lust. "Where y' goin'?"

"Not upstairs, certainly." Vincent replied, stepping out of the hot circle of Cid's legs. "Don't move from that spot." he commanded, searching through one of the cupboards. Vegetable oil. Certainly not what they usually used, but there was no way he was going to go all the way upstairs, and he really didn't want to try the butter. A little awkwardly because of his claw, he got the bottle open and poured some into his palm, then stalked back to the table.

Cid has sat up on his elbows to watch what he was doing, and raised a brow at the gunman as he approached. He hesitated a slight moment, then laughed and shrugged. "Better'n Crisco." He muttered thickly. Vincent chuckled darkly, his clawed hand carefully lifting Cid's leg higher, and his oil-slicked hand probing between the pilot's thighs. Cid's breath hissed out between his teeth as Vincent gently explored, then grunted in pain as two slick fingers suddenly plunged into him. Vincent sank his teeth into Cid's neck as his fingers worked deeper inside the pilot's body, his eyes watering as Cid tugged at his hair but ignoring the pain. Cid flexed around his hand, hot and tight and wanting, needing, the sounds he made almost enough alone to send the gunman over the edge. Gathering his wavering self-control, the gunman slid his fingers out of Cid's body, and caught the blond's legs, pushing them up high.

Vincent pressed forward, sliding into his lover, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him as a wave of sheer ecstasy crashed over him. His grip on Cid's thighs faltered, and the pilot took the opportunity to wrapped his legs around Vincent's waist again, drawing him deeper inside, their backs arching as Vincent sheathed himself fully within Cid.

On some deep level, Vincent noted that kitchen tables were just the right height for a fairly tall person to fuck the daylights out of a person laying on top, but most of his mind was concentrated on the feeling of Cid around him, engulfing him, love and lust and sweet pleasure igniting into an inferno. The kitchen filled with pants and moans and half-gasped names, then the world disappeared into a white-hot blaze of pleasure for them both.

Vincent found himself stretched out on top of Cid, still on the table, staring at a blob of marshmallow on the pilot's scruffy cheek. He slowly licked it off, reveling in the tiny shiver Cid gave in response. Cid turned towards him, azure meeting crimson, and chuckled, reaching up to stroke Vincent's hair behind his ear. "I love that blender." he muttered.

Vincent leaned up on one elbow, looking reproachful. "The blender?" he asked, sounding suitably miffed.

Cid laughed again, sliding his hand behind Vincent's neck to pull him into a soft kiss. "Love you too, idiot." He murmured against Vincent's lips. "But I think we both need a shower."

"Race you." Vincent replied smugly. But despite his words, they lay there for a moment, just looking at each other.

Then the table, rescued from the curbside long before, and stretched beyond it's endurance by the activity of the night, decided to retire and collapsed beneath them.