About
Roses are wet violets are korny,when I think of you
Ohh baby I get horny, Eat me, Beat me,
Bite me, Blow me, Suck me, ******** me,
Very Slowly, if you kiss me,
don't be sassy, Use your tongue and make it nasty!!!
AVATAR ART!!!!!!
[/quote]
[/quote]
| kagetsukii Wrote: |
 |
YAOI!!!!!
Something indistinguishable passed over Vincent’s features as he registered the younger man’s words. It was as if the blond had heard his reasonings of earlier and contradicted them. A small light of unrecognizable feeling began to glimmer inside him… it was something that he had not felt in a long time and the very return of it frightened him beyond measure.
It was hope.
“I have nothing to offer… to anyone,” muttered Vincent, turning his head away as if shamed.
A hand grasped his chin gently, forcing him to look back into wide mako blue eyes, shimmering with some unseen emotion. Vincent wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it, but he almost sensed a kinship, a keen understanding. As if Cloud knew exactly what he meant by every word he said, and that he felt the same way as well.
It was almost as terrifying as the unexplained hope.
“I’m not asking for anything,” said Cloud softly. “Just a chance…” With that, he kissed the ex-Turk again, more forcefully as he pressed their bodies together in the darkened hallway.
Vincent looked into his eyes, those beautiful glowing mako blue orbs and knew that he could not resist… he had no more arguments to give. With a small smile of surrender, he melted into the touch, returning the kiss with a small measure of hesitancy.
He could no more fight the feeling than he could run away from what he had to do.
* * *
Cloud undressed him slowly, revealing each layer as if preserving the moment. He pressed gentle kisses to scars as they were uncovered while his fingers caressed, sending tingles along Vincent’s skin wherever he touched.
The older man fought to keep his self-consciousness at bay, knowing his body was literally a road map of scars and markings, evidence of an evil man’s madness. His golden claw gleamed in the light, reminding him of the monstrous shape of his form. Unnatural pale skin and equally morbid crimson eyes, he looked anything but human.
Yet Cloud said nothing, only looking at him with the eyes of a man who had desires, with heat in his gaze and some unnameable emotion in his face. Finally, bared in the dim glow of the single lamp, Vincent could not suppress the slight shiver that ran through his body.
Without his layers of clothing, he felt as if his emotions had been laid bare, that his every thought had been thrust into the unyielding light. It was both unsettling and terrifying, this from a man who feared nothing in the face of battle.
Until Cloud began to undress, revealing bit by bit, flesh that was as marred as his own, some of the scars seeming uncomfortably familiar. He could not help but wonder if told the same story. To Vincent, it was almost like looking in a mirror, albeit one tainted by a madman’s curse.
He lifted an unmetaled hand, surprised to find it trembled if only slightly, and traced the contours of a particularly nasty scar on Cloud’s abdomen, crimson eyes rising to meet mako blue. The blond did not flinch at his touch or his gaze. It was a question unspoken that hid behind Vincent’s lips, one that he did not ask for the answer was unnecessary.
To be so young, even more so than he, and suffered as much, yet Cloud was still pushing on, trying to find a small measure of happiness. In that moment, Vincent came to a startling realization. He knew that the swordsman was very wrong about himself. He was not weak… far from it. With such determination, he was the strongest man that Vincent knew.
The gunman’s fingers grazed over the upraised flesh of the scar, tracing the path that it took from the right hipbone, across the planes of his well-muscled abdomen, only to end just below his ribcage. He felt something within him crack, a part that he had frozen in an attempt to bury the pain.
It was too much.
His fingers curled into a fist, trembling unexplained before he could hold back no longer. He reached out and drew the younger man into an embrace, quickly bending his head down slightly to press his lips to that of Cloud’s even as arms wrapped around him in the same moment. Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin in a most amazing sensation of sparks.
He gently curled his metal fingers in blond spikes, mentally forcing himself not to hide the appendage behind his back in shame even as he made sure to be careful. Cloud moaned against his mouth as his hands roamed over the gunman’s back, quick fingers immediately finding the worst of his mars, the true proof of the creatures beneath his skin.
Two scars vertically aligned beginning at the top of his shoulder blades and stretching to his mid back. Both were about an inch and a half wide and they were where his wings emerged, the wings that came from the manifestation of the fiercest of his demons, the most bloodthirsty, Chaos. Vincent stiffened for a moment calloused fingers traced the lines, those markings the most of his dismay.
No one had seen them yet.
“It’s okay,” assured the blond, pulling away from the kiss only to place gentle licks against Vincent’s neck, soft lips pressed to pale skin. He didn’t need to say anything more, the gunman understood. He relaxed underneath Cloud’s ministrations, pressing his body closer to the swordsman’s and into the warm embrace.
The tips of his claws gently massaged at the younger man’s scalp as his flesh hand lay dormant on Cloud’s shoulder. Vincent was losing himself in the pleasure given by the lips and tongue on his skin, igniting trails of hot fire and passion, sending messages straight to his groin which immediately rose to attention, matching the arousal that he could feel pressing into his thigh.
The swordsman began to urge them backwards, toward the bed against the far wall. They walked slowly, Cloud continuing to lave his skin with tender touches, until Vincent felt the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. The blond pushed him gently downwards until they were lying on the bed, Cloud between his legs and pressed down over his body, warm skin like a blanket to him.
And then it was lips and teeth and hands and tongue, all over, more than he could register. Warmth… so much warmth and tingles, fire racing through his veins and soft sheets beneath his flushed body. A mouth on his neck, licking… warm heat on his nipples, sucking, biting and he lost himself in the blaze. A brush of an equally hard arousal against his own, electricity raced across his skin and caused him to gasp.
His sensations whirled around him, blending and thriving, becoming a series of sounds and tastes and touches that knocked at the door to his emotions and demanded entrance. His body trembled, his groin ached and his skin flushed with fever, not an illness but a desire. It felt so terribly right… and he needed it more than anything he had ever thought before.
Cloud moaned above him, whimpering softly with each returned caress. Even a scrape of a metal claw down his back caused him to arch as they writhed, limbs rubbing, and skin melting in blissful erotic heat. A hand tangled in his hair, pulling his head back so that his neck was exposed before lips and teeth attacked him again, causing him to shiver as his own hand wandered, touching anything it could reach.
It was so much… much more than he had expected, much more than he had wanted or even thought he would ever feel again… Oh Kami, the very reality of it hit him all at once. He wasn’t cold… he was not numb or apathetic… this flame racing through his body, this scrape of calloused thumbs and hard, muscled limbs against his own body… he felt every last touch, heard every gasp and moan.
A hand slipped between their bodies, briefly stroking hardened flesh before traveling lower, pressing to the ring of flesh and tracing the contours. It was seeking permission in not so many words.
“Vincent,” came the murmured voice against his neck. “I want…” he trailed off.
It was a question.
Vincent moaned despite himself, wanting something more than just the fluttery touches. He wanted to be alive again… he wanted to feel something other than numb and dead. The gunman unconsciously spread his legs wider, pushing downward on the questioning finger.
“Cloud…” he responded softly. “Make me feel…”
It was consent.
He looked up and found Mako blue staring back at him. Cloud leaned in for a kiss, nibbling gently on his bottom lip as if asking entrance before plunging inside his open mouth and swiping his tongue inside. Vincent gave himself up to the kiss and in the same moment, gave in to whatever the blond swordsman had to offer.
Even if it was only for a night.
The blond pulled away from the kiss, only to trail his lips over Vincent’s jawline and down the tenderest areas of his neck. Almost immediately two fingers came to replace the tongue, pressing against the gunman’s lips. He drew them into his mouth, rolling the digits around his tongue and coating them as well he could with his saliva. It was the best they had the given the moment… he feared if he waited for Cloud to get something better, he would lose his nerve and slip out in silence after all.
Cloud moaned at the feeling of Vincent’s tongue around his fingers, mind already wondering how it feel to be wrapped on another part of his anatomy, one that was weeping and begging for attention. He decided his fingers were sufficiently lubricated and withdrew them from the moist heat of the older man’s mouth and maneuvering them to the ring of muscle between Vincent’s legs.
The dark-haired man took that opportunity to turn his head, sucking and biting on the younger man’s neck with his lips, unnaturally long canines grazing the tender skin and leaving small red marks in their wake. Cloud didn’t mind that so much, too absorbed by trying to stretch Vincent and not hurt him in the process.
He pressed in one finger, gasping aloud when he was gripped by tight heat. He waited for a moment, for the gunman to adjust, before he began to stretch him carefully. He didn’t want Vincent to remember anything like pain, just pure pleasure, and want… and feeling.
Vincent moaned at the hesitant and gentle touch. He unconsciously began to move against the man above him, sliding their slick skin together and soaking up every shuddered breath and trembling muscle. He memorized every sound, every gasp and craved each burst of fire over his own over sensitized flesh.
He was beginning to forget… why he even wanted to leave in the first place. He wondered why he never knew Cloud could make him feel that way. He was beginning to question why he had never tried…
Fingers… stretching him, filling him, making him overlook the past; forget why he had locked himself to begin with. And the younger man was being so gentle with him… almost as if he were afraid that he would break.
As if he could. He was Vincent Valentine; he was built to be strong, taught to endure it all. Even the heartbreak of being turned down by the women he loved. Even suffering through death and torture and rebuilding. Even thirty years locked in a coffin… he couldn’t break. He was not even sure he knew how.
A twist of fingers and Cloud brushed over something electric within him. His back arched, his breath caught, he clung with fierce abandon to the man above him as he rode the feelings, wanting more… so much more. He ran a hand down a muscular chest, feeling soft skin and scars, reminding him that he was not alone. That Cloud did not know how to break either…
Vincent felt the blunt head of the blond’s erection press at his entrance and he steeled himself for the slight pain that he knew would occur, no matter how well the younger man had prepared him. It had been so long since he had done such a thing… not since…
The memories hit him with the force of one of his guns, pounding into his brain loudly and obnoxiously with taunting words and cold fingers.
“Damn, dirty Turk,” hissed the voice, calculating and cruel, unrelentless in his anger or his torture. “You deserve it. You deserve every last bit of punishment I will lay on you. You failed her.”
Ah gods, the pain! Like a burning hot fire racing through his back and making his limbs literally turn to jelly. He could not stand, he could not even cry out as his breath was stolen from him. But he knew he had to endure, he knew he had to suffer, because Lucrecia had gone through more. It was because of him, and for that reason he would submit… for that purpose he would bear every last pain and solitude.
Vincent’s fist clenched against the covers, unconsciously shredding the fabrics as the memories tore into his senses, overlapping with reality and merging it all into one. He could feel it, he could feel it as if it were happening all over again and he fought back. He knew this time that those methods were not a proper atonement and he fought against the madman.
His flesh hand flailed, whether in reality or in his mind he did not know as he cried out unintelligible phrases, garbling in the face of the merging of two different times. He cursed, he hissed, he thrashed about in a desire to see Hojo pay, retribution for the pain that he had not deserved. He dimly heard someone calling his name but he ignored it, not wanting to hear anymore lies. He had his own suffering; he did not need anyone else’s…
Smack!
His head reeled for a moment as clarity returned in an instant. He found himself lying in his bed, breathing heavily as Cloud hovered above him, worry and fear etched into his face.
“Goddammit, snap out of it,” ordered the younger man in a voice that might have been considered angry, if Vincent had not caught the trace amounts of concern laced in every word.
Though the slap had brought him out of his flashback, he found the necessity for it angering. He fought to push off the blond, eyes narrowing. Cloud had no idea what he went through…
“Shut up, Strife!” he growled, shoving at the swordsman. His hands slammed into the blond’s chest, not even noticing as his claw scraped a small cut into toned skin. “You wouldn’t understand!”
Cloud grabbed his arms and pinned them down to the bed, using his body to try and restrain the somewhat taller ex-Turk who’s struggles were getting fewer and fewer by the minute, anger being replaced by something a bit more resigned, less volatile and subsequently, more terrifying.
“I wouldn’t?” demanded the swordsman, forcing Vincent to look at him. He released the ex-Turk’s arms and gestured towards his own body. “We have the same ******** scars, Vincent. The only difference between you and me is that I’ve accepted what’s happened to me and you’re still stuck in the past, dwelling there in apathetic guilt.”
The dark-haired man visibly winced at his words and slowly paled with every truth that was thrown into his face. “It is what I deserve,” he attempted to explain. “For my failure…”
“At what? Convincing a woman who was already set in her mind to not do what she intended? There was nothing you could do.”
Vincent frowned. “You cannot presume to tell me what I was capable of when you still harbor guilt for deaths you could not have prevented either.”
It was Cloud’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Maybe so… but I do not let my fault consume me as you have. Tell me Vincent, what have you outside your atonement?”
The gunman opened his mouth to retort then promptly shut it again, knowing there was no truth he could answer that with. In all honesty, he had nothing. His life was gone, thirty years past, everyone he knew faded with the years having forgotten Vincent Valentine. Lucrecia was by all accounts dead and he had pushed away all those that might have even tried to remain his friends. He closed his eyes in resignation and turned his head away from the blond.
“There is nothing.”
A hand grasped his chin, causing him to open his eyes to see Cloud looking down at him, no longer angry or upset, but more contemplative. How had he never noticed his reflection before?
“You haven’t tried looking,” murmured the blond before leaning down to kiss him, pressing their lips together in a gesture that would have almost been innocent had they not both been undressed and lying in a bed. “Thanks for the chance,” he added quietly, pulling back from the almost chaste kiss. “I should go.”
He made moves to get up from the bed but he had not counted on Vincent trying to stop him. Arms wrapped around him, pulling his body down until he was lying in the gunman’s embrace, enveloped fully in his warmth and his scent, something spicy and exotic, manly and comforting.
“Forgive me,” murmured the ex-Turk. “I fear that in thirty years I have forgotten how to be human.”
A hand tangled in dark hair as he pressed their bodies together, accepting the apology for what it was… a slow acceptance of the truth. Or as close as two men such as they could come to it.
“That is not something you can forget,” retorted Cloud quietly.
“Then perhaps I just need to be reminded.”
The blond pulled back enough to look into crimson eyes, making sure he saw only truth. “Are you sure?”
He thought about it, mulling the choices over in his mind. He could say no… walk away now before either of them got in too deep. He could run from a chance at finding something more than atonement, he could hide from the possibility that he was in fact alive. Or he could take the chance that he was not alone… he could dare to believe in something beyond himself for once… even if it was just the one time. Did he want to return to his numb state of existence, for all intents and purposes, merely going through the motions of reality or did he want to feel one more time…
After having that one taste, the answer was painfully obvious.
“Show me…” he murmured, no need to explain what he meant by those words. He took comfort in the fact that the blond understood.
After slicking up his arousal with the copious amounts of precum it had produced, the swordsman shared a kiss with the gunman. Vincent trailed his flesh fingers down the blond’s chest, tracing the scars as if in silent acceptance as the blond aimed for his hidden entrance.
Cloud began to press into him slowly, Vincent biting his lip against the pain. It burned so very much but it also felt good, the pleasure mixing with the pain until the two were nearly indistinguishable. Flames raced through his body, reigniting every nerve and setting his senses to sing. He felt so deliciously full, Cloud melded to him at every instance that there was no way he could feel any other way.
The blond’s arousal throbbed inside him, almost to the beat of his heart, and Cloud bent his head, to push their lips together as his hips began to move, slowly, luxuriously. It was a steady pace of back and forth, two bodies moving in tandem with gasped breaths and sweaty, slick skin. The smell of sex thickened in the air and cloaked them like a layer of anonymity.
He lost himself to the slide of their bodies, the slap of flesh of flesh and the rising feelings with each brush over that electrical core of him deep inside. Each warm gasped breath in his ear as Cloud pressed his body down on top of the gunman’s almost as if trying to meld their bodies into one, only served to make him feel alive. How could he not with that strong heart beating around him, those impassioned moans and whimpers filling the air?
The fire began to build deep within his belly, all pleasure coursing through him until it collected there, becoming a pressure he could not escape from, becoming a bliss that was inevitable. His movements became more hurried, more frenzied as he pushed up into the man that had sped up his own thrusts, plunging into him with abandon.
They climbed to higher and higher planes of ecstasy until there was nowhere left to go. Vincent’s back arched, his grip tightened, claw cutting into flesh that just as quickly sought to heal. He screamed as his world turned white, unintelligible nothings that probably echoed throughout the entire building but he cared not. His world exploded around him as he came. His body shook and shuddered, encasing him in hot rapture as Cloud called out his name, filling him and marking him with his essence in a way that Vincent knew would not fade for some time.
He almost felt as if he were floating, and in that instant… he was more alive than he had been for thirty years. He forgot about Lucrecia and Hojo, forgot about the demons and the alterations, his guilt and his obsession, it all became null in the face of such harsh and unyielding truth.
Time slowed, he didn’t know how much had passed before they collapsed against the bed in a pile of sweaty limbs and disheveled hair. Gasping for breath, struggling to calm their racing hearts and return to some semblance of normal. Vincent didn’t even feel the weight of the younger man on him.
Minutes passed, crawling like hours, before the swordsman even stirred, breath evened enough to find a hint of regularity. He forced himself to roll off of the gunman, lest he crush him but wasted no time in rolling them both on their sides and drawing the taller man into his arms. Vincent didn’t even resist the hold, didn’t resist the familiarity. He simply relaxed into the touch, allowing himself that comfort.
They did not say anything to each other as their bodies cooled and drifted off towards sleep. There was no need for words. Not in that moment.
Vincent’s body thrummed strangely with something he recognized but did not yet want to admit to. As his body pulled him into slumber, he gave in to what he had been given. The reminder of life and all that it offered… that had once been taken but now restored. Those were the last of his thoughts as he joined the blond in sleep.
* * *
Vincent woke up slowly, immediately surprised by the fact that he had slept a night without dreams, a night without bloody tears and demonic howlings. The ever vocal monsters within him had retreated to the furthest depths of his subconscious, not even muttering cruel jibes.
His nightmares had faded into oblivion chased away by shining mako eyes and the tender kisses of a man who had the same scars. He reveled in the warmth of the muscular arms wrapped around him; he was content in the face of kinship.
He had not forgotten Lucrecia… or his hand in everything that had occurred. He could not deny his fault or his guilt… but he could accept it. His atonement was not yet complete, but it was no longer the only darkness he clung to. Somewhere there was a light…
With the honest truth thrown into his face, Vincent could no more lose himself as a member of the world. It was time he ceased existing and learned to live.
He did not know what was going to happen between he and Cloud, did not know his true feelings for the swordsman as cluttered as his heart was with guilt and unrequited love. But he was willing to wait and see what happened.
He was willing to try.
Content with that knowledge, Vincent snuggled down next to Cloud’s warmth, a half smile threatening to tug at the corners of his mouth as the younger man muttered something unintelligible and tightened his hold.
“Go back to sleep…” murmured Cloud against his neck, warm breath washing over his skin and sending shivers down his spine. “It’s early…”
He owed this man much, for showing him another path, for giving him that frightening ideal of hope. He wondered if Cloud even knew how much his life had changed in one single moment, how his world had tilted on its axis. Not that it would be easy for him to become entirely new… but that it was all a possibility now.
“… Thank you, Strife…” he murmured, eyes already sliding shut of their own accord as his body tried to pull him into more restful sleep… something that he had not had in nearly thirty years.
“Mmm,” responded the blond, voice already drowsily returning to sleep. He had nothing more to say other than that, Vincent already knowing that he didn’t think he needed such words. But Cloud was so very wrong.
Because he had given the gunman something he had never expected to have again. Not after losing his heart to a woman who would never appreciate it. Not after losing his form and identity to a crazed scientist. And not after tormenting his soul in silent shadows for thirty long years locked in a forgotten box in the basement of an abandoned mansion.
Those shreds of what had remained after his suffering, those tattered pieces of dreams and hopes, ideals he hadn’t considered after understanding the world he once knew was no more… words to cling to in the dead of lonely nights and the pain of unhealable wounds.
Cloud had given him something worth more than money. He had shown him what lay beyond the pain, beneath the crimson stains of his soul and with his honest painful words of truth; he had given the anguished ex-Turk a reason to live.
Vincent had found something to believe in, beyond the atonement of his ineptitude.
It was frightening.
It stirred his apathy with feelings he had long buried. It cracked his ice and stone façade, shattered his walls of abandon and revealed the man underneath.
And yet, he took comfort in the fact that he still had a chance.
Even if he and Cloud never amounted to anything more than that one moment, than that one time of shared passion and flesh, he would still be able to continue, he could grieve as he hadn’t been able… perhaps even be brave enough to consider love again. And maybe one day, if he was feeling particularly cheered, he might even be able to set aside his atonement.
Perhaps one day.
It was that final thought that tossed him into slumber, falling into peace with all the grace of a child, wrapped in the warm arms of a man who understood one last truth.
The scars that bound them were the scars that healed.
Only time would tell.
* * *
Comments
View All Comments
;^;
had a comment from you in a long time
;~;
I miss you, come back! <33
i miss you soooo much
;~;
come back to me!! <33