The sound of engines thrumming was distant and the footsteps of Sierra's crew were just echoes down the hall, all of it close and far enough to be comfortable. It was his pride now, the Sierra, and Cid ran a loving hand along the wall of the Captain's cabin as he settled onto his bed with a hard-earned sigh. Just a slow caress of appreciation.
Petting, soothing, caring.
You had to know how to treat a lady, after all, especially one as fine as his.
"You're a nice gal, aren't you?" Cid said fondly, running his fingers over the hull
one last time before letting his hand fall back to his lap.
The ship rumbled once, apparently grateful for the recognition, but there was another slight noise that drew the blonde's attention away from the ship and towards the others side of the bed. Just a slight shifting of cloth, soft and muffled and almost soundless against the outside world. Blue eyes traveled a path of black and more black and, finally, that sliver of pale white skin.
Vincent always did that, making a person go through layers upon layers before offering just the slightest glimpse of /anything/.
Sitting there with his back against the wall and arms folded across his chest, the black-haired man could have been doing any number of things. Thinking, brooding, meditating...probably sleeping, the sly dog. Napping while everyone thought he was shouldering the weight of his 'sins' on those shoulders.
Everyone, of course, being Cid. Because no one else ever saw Vincent this relaxed, even if the ex-Turk was ready to snap into action with half a breath's notice. And no one else would be able to reach over and push that long hair out of the way, peel away those layers until the concept of clothing was foreign.
Just Cid, and the pilot was still amazed by that, amazed and proud that this old, cussing dreamer had managed to gain whatever it was that was between him and one Vincent Valentine. He kind of wished there was a reason, or some magic moment, but he could never remember a lightening to the brain revelation or divine force pushing them along.
There were no whys or hows about it, in the end. It just happened, because Cid Highwind could be a pushy bastard when he wanted to be and that was that.
Being pushy had its definite plus sides.
Being pushy helped him build a rocket. Helped him show Shinra a thing or two and reach the stars he'd been gazing at all his life. Helped them all saving the goddamn world of all things and that pretty much tipped the scales in his favor, in his opinion.
Being pushy got him that set of crimson-stained eyes that were peering over at him through a mop of messy black.
Cid grinned and crooked a finger at Vincent. "Don't worry, I think you're nice to, Vince. Why don't you come over here and I'll show ya?"
Vincent snorted, one fine eyebrow raised and...fell back into his brooding-meditating-possibly-sleeping pose.
Being pushy could be a good thing, Cid reflected, but pushy only got so far when pinned up against a stubborn force of will that had been perfected over three decades of nothing but thinking.
The problem, if it could be called a problem and Cid's nether regions most assuredly did call it that, the problem with Vincent was that sometimes he edged away from contact like a paranoid cat. No touching, no petting. No sex.
Yeah, that last one could be a real dozy when your bedmate looks like Vincent.
And then what did you have to do? Coax without letting on that you're coaxing. Persuade without persisting but never giving up.
Animals and Turks can smell the weakness in a creature. Cid was pretty sure he'd read that somewhere.
"What are you smirking at?" the quiet question sounded amused, if wary.
"Nothin, Vin. Just thinking about something."
"Is that so?"
The smirk widened a bit, showing one dimple that the blond refused to admit he had. "Yep. You know how that works."
Cid glanced over, almost cheering when he noticed two slits of red studying him more earnestly, the ex-Turks face tilted just so for a better angle. Vincent's entire expression seemed to demand /Well?/, blank though it may seem.
The blond sighed melodramatically. "Fine. You caught me, buddy. I was thinking about your hair."
Vincent's other eyebrow joined the first in its previous position for a moment before his features narrowed, suspicious. He shifted slightly, long limbs edging along the mattress and he made sure Cid caught sight of just a gleam of gold. The black-haired man was glad he'd left his cloak off, for once. It would only have impaired his movement now and the black-haired man had a feeling that he'd be making some fast movements for one reason or another.
"I was thinking," Cid continued as if oblivious, "about that damn bandana of yours. Not that I'm complainin' or nothin' but a /bandana/?"
"Says the man who wears flight goggles to bed on most nights," Vincent said with a glance at said goggles. Cid grumbled and huffed with a look upwards and the black-haired man almost smiled. "But I'm not a fool, Highwind. My hair does not warrant that much attention."
"No?" Cid asked, seemingly considering this statement before shrugging and settling back, hands behind his head and eyes closed. "Guess you'd know better than me, right?"
In a parallel dimension, that is... he added to himself, because Vincent never looked in the mirror. Never looked at those around him for more than to note whether or not they realized what a failure he was, a monster with hell to pay for. Half of it was bullshit anyway, but Cid let Vincent keep his guilt up to a certain point. The poor guy would probably have an identity crisis if he didn't.
So instead of arguing, he sat back and waited. Biding his time with a restraint he reserved for few things. But it would work, and the rewards would be great.
Vincent watched the pilot, confused and briefly sympathetic as he felt a certain role-reversal take place. Cid had never answered his original question, had avoided it for some reason, and that more than anything made the garnet-eyed man want to find out what was going on.
"Highwind?" he asked, turning to face his companion more fully.
"Cid?' he tried again, slightly annoyed though his voice remained the same. Always the same aside from those few moments of breaking and release.
Cautiously, slowly, Vincent inched towards the blond on hands and knees, careful to keep the sharp points of his claw from tearing the bed. The whole time he kept his eyes sharp, waiting for any sudden movement. This could be a ploy; the captain was craftier than most gave him credit for, and if Vincent was correct in his assumption then...
The bandana that usually held his hair at bay slid down, momentarily distracting him.
That's when Cid pounced, leaning forward to grab the slighter man and pulled him forward, flush up against him in all the right place as calloused hands tangled in long black hair, an effective enough leash for the time being. Hips ground up into slim hips, rough fabric of their pants only increasing the friction, hot and persistent and so damn good as they grew harder, slowly rocking into each other.
Things were going according to the Captain's plans.
Cid wanted to devour the pale man for it.
He figured he might as well start now.
Vincent gasped, startled, then growled as he felt firm lips press against his own, hard and chapped with phantom grins and cigarette smoke. His human hand curled around the edge of the pilot's white t-shirt, twisting and probably tearing as his metal appendage searched for some purchase.
Cid pulled back, letting ink-spilled hair fall from one hand just long enough the grab the golden claw a press a biting kiss to its palm before making it settle on his shoulder. "You keep making that around and you'll break something."
"Hn. You need to update the room anything. It's outdated."
"You saying everything in this room is old?" the blond chuckled, running a hand through Vincent's hair as he nipped at a slender, pale neck. He felt the groan he caused before hearing it and it made his cock twitch in anticipation.
Slow it down, Bronco. Patience is a virtue or something.
Slow it down then, Cid decided. Vincent was always louder when he had to wait.
Grease-stained fingers brushed against something to course to be Vincent's black man and he tugged once, grinning as the ex-Turk's bandana fell aside and red eyes were suddenly hidden from view.
"Amusing," Vincent deadpanned, one pointed finger tapping against Cid's shoulder.
Cid didn't care. He was enjoying this too much, threading his fingers through his lover's hair, petting like it was his mission in life because eventually Vincent would give in and melt, pliant and boneless and right onto one horny Cid Highwind.
Vincent sighed and shifted his position, straddling the younger man's lap and sitting back to give the blond a bemused look. "No one put me through this when I was-" tongue froze between younger and alive and wasn't sure where to go, never really was anymore. "When my hair was shorter."
Cid frowned for a moment, noticing the pause, then grinned. "So I guess the Turks don't really sit around doing each other's hair, talkin' about who gives better head? Damn. I had gil riding on that one."
"You've got the most gorgeous fuckin hair though, you know."
Blinking, the pilot felt a slow smile spread across as Vincent's eyes became half-lidded and, dare he say, lazy, a warm type of amusement on the lines of his face. So much different from the normal stoney planes and covered features. Gold claws clutched and relaxed periodically. Another stroke over strands and back and...
Cid nearly lost it at the sound of that, deep and rumbling...fuck.
"You really are like a big damn cat, Vince..." the blond said, stirring at the sound or it, hell, the memory of it and he wanted to make that perfect mouth purr and moan for hours on end.
"I hope you would not consider doing to a cat what you do to me, or I may have to question your mental health."
Vincent humor. It struck when you least expected it to.
The smart-aleck smirked, just a slight pull of his lips, but a smirk nonetheless. Growling, Cid decided the best defense was offense and started to pull his lover back down to him, blood pounding as he thought out just what his attack plan was and how much of it included Vincent's very fine ass.
Cool as water and like a wisp of smoke, Vincent was off his lap and standing by the small bed. Hair bereft of its normal crimson restraint, cloak lying somewhere in the corner of the room, the tall man could have been a silhouette if not for smug garnet eyes and dangerous gold remnant.
"The hell?!" Cid yelled, sitting up and turning his head so fast he might have gotten whip-lash. "Vincent!"
"Your plan was well set, Cid," Vincent said, inclining his head with the undercurrent of a smile. "You weakened your attack though by slowing down."
The blonde's jaw dropped. He was vaguely glad he hadn't lit up a smoke yet or he'd probably let the damn blanket burn underneath him. "You..."
The problem with being pushy, Cid decided, was that sometimes you were pushing so hard, you didn't realize someone was pulling from the other end.
Then Vincent did smile, small and sad but there, examined a lock of his hair. "My gratitude, though. I think I'd like to go stand on the deck and feel the wind in my hair, if you'd join me. I never did take time to enjoy that...when I was younger."
Vincent looked so sure when he said that, even if it were just this time in what would be a longer life still, and Cid thought that maybe he didn't mind being pulled along at all.
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