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After meteorfall, after everything that their group had gone through to save the planet, all had returned back to their homes, scattered like meteorites ten thousand miles apart.
Cloud and Tifa had returned to Midgar, Seventh Heaven awaiting them, and Barret had returned to Marlene. Nanaki had his place at Cosmo Canyon, Yuffie hers at Wutai. Reeve, of course, had never left Midgar in the first place, but Cait Sith had returned to his embrace nonetheless. Cid had his home in Rocket Town, complex though his situation with Shera may have been, and Vincent?
Well. He had his coffin, back in Shinra manor. Cool and dark, and soft with velvet worn by the ticking of the years around him. Soothing stone and silence, only the company of rare fiends who dared to venture beneath the manor joined him. Even the manor itself was less frequented by fiends these days after the shock of their little company rolling through it in a whirlwind of activity, putting down all that stood in their path. Even those long-storied fiends who had made their homes within the manor for near as long as himself had been dispatched, leaving the manor oddly empty for long spells, bereft of the life that Vincent had sensed about him for so long.
He settled in his coffin easily. Relief. Quiet. Dark peacefulness seeped through to his very bones, deep beneath the ground where the sun could not reach.
Where life could not reach.
It must have been at least five months that he had allowed himself to sleep. Decompress. After so long journeying with the rowdy, boisterous, and emotional company of others, it was good to be alone. Alone without questions.
Without the need to justify his smallest decisions to those who called themselves his friends.
He slept.
He woke, he ate.
Slept again.
Not the sleep of atonement, not quite that any more. Say what he would about their journey, it had soothed parts of him as well. Sanded down rough edges he had not realised he’d been holding onto for years, holding close like penance for his sins. Visiting Lucrecia in her crystal, helping to save the planet — for his part — it had… helped.
And now? He heard the rattle of the manor door slamming from all the way deep down in his basement, and he sighed from within his coffin, not quite willing to rise and deal with whatever intrusion it was. Not just yet.
And then the intrusion cheerfully announced its presence — his presence — with a hearty rap on the lid of his coffin, and Vincent stilled the thump-thump of his heart as he rose, pushing the coffin lid open with his clawed hand.
"Cid," he said, a smile tilting his lips despite himself. "I had not expected you."
"Vince! Lookin' pasty as ever! Don't get much sun down here, do ya?" Cid leaned back against the coffin, his rear lifted enough that he was almost perched on the end. The light from beyond his room streamed in, illuminating Cid's hair like a blonde halo, and Vincent breathed out.
"No, not so much sun. That is hardly a problem for me, though."
Cid looked down at him, eyeing him with that sharp, assessing gaze, as perceptive as ever. "Well, you look like shit, and I've got just the thing." He clapped both hands together, rubbed them briskly in anticipation. "How d'ya feel like a bit of exploration, eh? Got word of some Shinra shit that fell from the sky, needs someone competent to go check it out and whaddya know? We're the only fellas without an agenda."
Vincent squinted at Cid, biting his bottom lip. "How do you know I don't have an agenda?"
He did not have an agenda.
Cid snorted. "Oh sure, how could I forget?" He lifted a hand and ticked off one finger. "Your beauty sleep," another finger, "brooding," a third, "braidin' all that hair of yours," a fourth finger, "and, ahh who're you kiddin'. Get your ass up, we're goin'."
Vincent laughed under his breath. "Persuasive, Cid. Very persuasive." He floated up and out of his coffin, coming to land softly on metal-clad feet. "You forgot turning into a bat," he said with a little smile, then tucked his chin into his scarf, hiding it.
Cid's laughter was a thing of bright beauty, and Vincent's smile broadened inside his scarf. "Right, right, the bats, hah! I've missed you, Vince." Cid leaned over and clapped Vincent on the shoulder in his rough and warm fashion, and if Vincent leaned into the touch, well he wasn't going to point it out. He still didn't know what it was about Cid and his boisterous, brusque manner that endeared him so, but even now with his silence so thoroughly broken, Vincent found himself drawn to the man.
"So where are we headed? You brought the ship?"
"What kinda stupid question—" Cid wrapped an arm around Vincent and steered him out of his little room, "of course I brought the Highwind, what kinda pilot d'ya you take me for, eh? Did I bring the ship, pfft."
The sunlight was bright enough to have Vincent squinting, and he lifted one hand to shade his eyes. He hadn't detached himself from Cid, finding himself enjoying the contact after his time of solitude.
The Highwind was indeed off in the distance just beyond the manor, her sleek silver lines reflecting the late afternoon sun like a low banked fire. Vincent felt a stirring of feeling in his gut at seeing her, emphasised by Cid's companionable arm still about his shoulders. Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad trip after all.
"You repainted," he said as they approached. The airship's name was now emblazoned across her flank, and underneath, as an accent, a most familiar symbol had been painted.
He shot a look sidelong at Cid, who had the wherewithal to look sheepish, one hand scratching at his stubble.
"Just a little somethin' to remember by," he muttered, "you know how it is."
"Hm." Did he? He knew how there was a small piece of Cid that he'd kept within his coffin — a mostly empty packet of smokes, just two cigarettes remaining — but that was different. Wasn't it? It was more understandable for one such as himself to hold on to a keepsake, solitary as he was, but for Cid to have painted Vincent's own symbol right up there on his airship? Hm. An unexpected warmth flooded his cheeks, and he ducked his chin deeper into his scarf.
"I can paint over it, if you'd rather." Cid scrubbed a hand through his hair, body tense against Vincent.
"No." Vincent looked up at the Highwind, at their twinned symbols. "It suits her." He paused, mind racing over the best words. He settled for honesty. "And besides, I like it."
"Oh! Oh. Well then." Cid's smile was radiant, a precious thing. "Good. Let's get the hell goin', shall we?"
"Let's."
The journey was a comfortable one. The Highwind's cockpit was roomy and bright, windows all about for the best view while flying, and Vincent had found himself enjoying the sight of the clouds up high, of the occasional birds, of the blue, blue sky that reminded him of Cid's eyes.
Perhaps that was one of the reasons he'd holed himself back up in the manor — the open sky lost its glamour without Highwind there to share it with. An odd concept to chew on; almost an uncomfortable one, but then, Vincent was used to sitting with uncomfortable truths, wasn't he?
"So," Vincent said, leaning against the railing near Cid, "you still haven't mentioned what exactly needed such an urgent response."
"Oh yeah." Cid squinted out ahead, no doubt carrying out complicated aeronautical equations in his head as he steered. "Uhh, Cloud said somethin' 'bout a fallen bit of Shinra tech mighta come from space?" His voice perked up under the layer of concentration. "'pparently it were found near enough to Gongaga to maybe be a threat. Barret thinks it might be full of mako or some bullshit."
"Hm." More Shinra technology? Well, it was hardly something that could be said to be unexpected. "Did you know of any other active space missions?"
"No, and that's the funny thing ain't it? Figure it's sensible to check it out anyways."
"I suppose we are the most qualified for the job."
"Hah. Ex-Shinra, hell yeah." Cid reached over and slapped Vincent on the shoulder. "Probably one of the only times that's a positive, eh?" He patted his outer jacket pocket and then came up with his lighter, flipping the lid back and igniting the end of his cigarette, which seemed to have burned out.
The lid snapped shut and the lighter disappeared once more, and the air filled with the scent of tobacco which, as a non-smoker, Vincent supposed he should find repulsive. It just reminded him of Cid, though, and he inhaled subtly from inside his scarf, smiling softly to himself as the gentle plume of smoke drifted past him. Maybe his scarf would smell of smoke once more, after this mission was done…
"Does make ya wonder though, don't it? If this was another Shinra space mission gone sideways, how many other fallout pieces of junk-ass shit are we gonna have to deal with?"
"It would be more of a surprise if this was the last, I agree." Vincent's metal claws flexed, and he held them out in front of him, examining the gauntlet in the light. Perhaps after this mission, he could prevail upon Cid to take a look at his prosthetic again. The fingers moved a little jerkily, like there was rust or some other contamination caught between the joints, and he had not yet managed to determine the source. No amount of oiling had helped, and that was the extent of his knowledge on the thing. One more area of lacking on his part.
He exhaled, eyes ducking low to stare at the neat metal floor of the Highwind's cockpit.
"Yeah, well for what its worth, I can't say I'd mind, ya know?" Cid looked sidelong at Vincent, who looked sidelong back at him from under the shadow of his hair. Cid cleared his throat. "And besides, it gets you outta that stanky basement of yours."
Vincent looked up sharply. "My basement is not 'stanky'. Whatever that's supposed to mean."
Cid laughed nearly hard enough to spit out his cigarette, which Vincent took as a positive at least.
He continued, softer, "but I agree." Vincent cleared his throat too, like there was a chorus of Toxic Frogs in the cockpit between the two of them. "It is… pleasant, to be out and about." He looked away again, ducking his nose deep into his scarf. "With you."
Cid's pleased and startled laugh was all the answer he needed.
The air was warmer in Gongaga, and clammier too — almost enough to make Vincent want to shrug out of his cape and scarf, but not quite. Cloud hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said the Shinra technology was near enough to be a worry: the thing was a hulk of dull metal with curved edges swooping into harsh angles which caught the late afternoon sunlight all wrong, and it made Vincent shudder to look upon.
"Well, shit," Cid said, as though he could read Vincent's thoughts. He scratched the back of his neck, then pulled out a cigarette and lit it, blowing a near-perfect ring of smoke up into the air. "Is it me, or does it smell kinda funny here? Think it's that thing?" He gesticulated towards the technology with his free hand, and Vincent eyed it thoughtfully.
"Hm, not so easy to tell from this distance." He sniffed the air, almost channelling the nose of Galian Beast, and contemplated the scent. Metal, yes, and something deeper. Rust, perhaps? Or blood. And underneath a sort of sulphuric sharpness that assaulted his sensitive nose, hot and almost sweating in the damp heat of the afternoon.
Flashes of Hojo's laboratory came into his mind, all glassy sharpness and cold sterility, and Vincent shuddered once more, hunching closer to Cid, unconciously seeking his robust, sensible warmth.
"Whatever it is," Cid said, "I don't like it. Ya think something's died in there?"
"Perhaps." Doubtful, but you never could tell with Shinra. "Would we smell it from out here, if it had?"
"Yeah, alright, fair point." Cid inhaled hard then blew out more smoke, and Vincent breathed it in, grateful for the scent distraction. "Well. Only one way to find out!" He worked the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and brushed both hands together, brusque and businesslike, then unsheathed his spear. "You wanna shoot it or shall I give it the ol' prod first?" He gestured violently with the spear, and Vincent stifled a smile.
"Perhaps neither?" he suggested, although he would possibly feel better having unloaded a few rounds into it. "Reconnaissance."
And he set off walking.
"Reconnaissance?" Cid yelled after him, and the unmistakable sound of his run followed. "What are we, real life troopers or somethin'? Reconnaisance."
Vincent did not increase his speed, no more eager to reconnoiter than he was to shoot the structure — for it was a structure, now that they were closing in on it — but he let the forward motion carry him closer until they were right in front of the thing.
It hulked in the light like a crouching beast, and, if possible, the smell was even worse up close. "Rotting meat," he thought, and then startled as Cid repeated it, not quite realising that he'd said it out loud.
"Fuckin' rottin' meat is right. Why the hell does it smell like that?"
"There are flowers," Vincent said, a memory surfacing, "which emit a pungent scent in order to attract carrion."
"Right, of course there fuckin' are. And then what?"
"They eat them," Vincent finished, grimly. His hand fell to Death Penalty and he unholstered it, the feeling of its use-worn handle comforting against his palm, its weight reassuring.
Holding the gun so it pointed upwards, Vincent stepped forward. He ducked his nose into his scarf in an attempt to dampen the smell, but it was hardly effective — probably no more effective than Cid's own pilot's scarf, which he'd wrapped around the lower half of his face but then pulled down enough on one side that he could stick his cigarette out of the corner of his mouth.
"That a door?"
Vincent squinted, then made a noise of agreement. He poked the blunt end of Death Penalty against the edge, exerting just enough pressure to push at the door, which swung open obligingly, just a little.
"Well, that's too fuckin' easy." Cid stepped closer, Venus Gospel's butt preceding him, and he pushed the door more firmly. It stayed open, and Cid's rapping on the metal frame edge sent up a dull whump of wood-on-metal and a cloud of cloying red dust.
"Rust?" Vincent crouched and reached out, running one of his clawed fingertips along the frame. It came up coated in the stuff; a little sticky and red as fresh blood. He sniffed it gingerly. "Not rust, nor blood. It has the scent of plant-life, somehow…"
"What sort of hell plant looks like that?" Cid rubbed the butt of Venus Gospel along the frame again and made a noise of disgust as it too got coated in the substance. "Fuckin' rank. You ever seen anythin' like it?"
Vincent was silent for a moment, turning over his memories. "No," he said slowly, "it's like nothing I've experienced before."
"Great. Well, I guess we better get on with the reconnoissance, eh? It hasn't eaten your finger away, so it's probably safe."
"Oh? Is that the only criteria for safety?"
"Hah!" Cid snorted, but reached back and clasped Vincent's non-clawed hand, pulling him to his feet. "Maybe, maybe not. We should stay close though, yeah?"
"Agreed." Vincent's fingers flexed in Cid's and he allowed them to linger for a moment longer than was perhaps proprietary before clamping down on those feelings. He did not need a distraction.
The light barely reached inside the structure. It was like it was cut off from all sunshine in favour of a strangely pulsing dimness, balefully red like the emergency alarms on Cid's rocket.
The smell was no worse inside.
They walked down what seemed to be a corridor, both on edge and alert for any ambushers. The floor of the structure made a sound like hollow metal under Vincent's armoured feet, but the feel of it was soft, almost spongey. It muffled and absorbed the sound of their footsteps, putting an almost peaceful blanket over Vincent's senses, and he noticed that as they progressed, the smell even began to fade away.
There were more little clouds of the red dust from every contact they made — every footstep, every brush of a shoulder against wall or knock of Venus Gospel against the ceiling dislodged more of it, until they were both lightly dusted in it from head to foot.
"This shit is disgusting," Cid said, trying to brush some of the dust off his jacket shoulder, but to no avail. "We're gonna look like walkin' frosted cupcakes at this rate."
Vincent smiled into his mantle. "Not sure I'd want to eat one of those, Chief."
Cid grinned back over his shoulder at him, waving his fist in the air. "You're damn right. It better come off with a shower is all I'm sayin'."
"You have a shower on the Highwind?"
"Course I do. Whaddya think, I'm some kinda barbarian? Hah." Cid blew a plume of smoke upwards and Vincent watched as it congealed against the ceiling. "Hey, you think its flammable in here?" The cigarette end glowed as he took a final drag.
"I wouldn't risk it." Vincent held out his hand then took the cigarette end as Cid offered it back to him. A deft motion and he'd stubbed it out on his metal palm, faintly registering that it would have hurt on anyone else. His mind followed that train of thought, offering him the image of a perfectly round burn on his flesh hand, impressed there by steadily skilled hands, the scent of his own burnt flesh in his nose along with the distinctive cologne Cid always wore…
And he came back out of the thought to see Cid stopped in front of him, that penetrating blue gaze searching his face.
"I apologise, I got lost in thought for a moment."
"Yeah, I could see that, Vince." Cid stepped a little closer, looking up at Vincent with a curious expression on his face. "You wanna share with the class?"
"It was nothing." Vincent's nose burrowed deeper into his mantle, but he couldn't take his eyes from Cid's. Vince… "Nothing relevant," he added, belatedly.
"Sure, alright. Well, if you feel like spillin' the beans, ya know where I am." Cid grinned and patted Vincent on the shoulder, hand lingering perhaps too long.
Cid's touch had never lingered on anyone else but him and him alone, something he'd realised far too late while he was sleeping in his coffin. Cid's touch lingered on him and him alone, just as much as his eyes did, often following Vincent's movements without Cid seeming to be aware of it. It was… distracting. And almost pleasant, if he admitted to himself a feeling that had been buried deep indeed. There had hardly been time for anything of that nature during their work, and then they'd all spread out and who was he to demand Cid's time? But now they were here, together again, and Cid was so— so vital, so Cid…
"We should press on," Vincent replied softly. "But Cid— thank you. I do know where you are." And he knew where he would like him to be, if only he could muster up some form of vim and vigor to do something about it. Some sort of go-get-'em attitude, hm? Yeah…
Cid flashed him a smile then turned and prodded Venus Gospel upwards, poking at the rounded ceiling of the corridor. Dust showered from it, sprinkling into his hair and across the top of his goggles, and he grunted. "Think it's gonna be like this the whole way in?"
"All signs point to yes."
They continued to walk, Vincent taking point this time, until the corridor branched out into a wide, curving room. Completely empty, much like the rest of the place, and Vincent eyed the doors at the opposite end with suspicion. Too quiet by far.
"Just how big is this thing?" Cid stalked past him and into the middle of the room and gestured around with Venus Gospel, the spear not even touching the walls. "Didn't look this big from out there. Did it?" He planted the butt of his spear into the floor, then yelped and jumped as a ripple extended outwards from the impact. "Damn floor's squishy! What the hell?"
Vincent paced inside cautiously, poking the floor with the tip of his boot. It gave beneath the pressure like spongy flesh left too long in the sun to rot and emitting a hellish stench besides.
"Hm," he said, finger reflexively stroking Death Penalty's outer trigger guard.
"'Hm'? What's that supposed to mean!" Cid flipped Venus Gospel and stabbed the blade directly into the floor, and Vincent could only stare as it sunk in all the way to the pointed crossblade, sending up a plume of the red dust laced with black this time.
He shivered as it clouded into the air of the room, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of death laced with a promise.
"This place is not safe," he said, crossing the distance to Cid. "We should leave."
Cid shook his head, though his eyes looked wild, almost desperate to agree with Vincent. "Nah, we got a job to do, Vince. If this place is dangerous, we can't leave it here for any kid to come runnin' in, can we?"
He did have a point. The idea of Marlene or any other child in this place was abhorrent — they could not leave it an unknown.
"What were the suggestions for how to deal with it? If it were dangerous."
Cid patted his pockets, beaming. "The old faithful — brought me some dynamite."
Ah, no wonder he looked so pleased with himself. "We should set it and leave." The blackened dust curled at the nape of Vincent's neck, its touch a hideous caress, and he leaned in closer to Cid, giving into his cowardice for just a moment of reprieve. "Though… I suppose we should investigate those doors first."
"Atta boy." Cid clapped Vincent on the shoulder, hand sliding down to his lower back and pulling him in for an all-too-brief hug before letting him go again.
Vincent felt the chill immediately upon being released, and for the first time, it brought home just how cold it was. Not cold enough that his breath was showing, but enough that without Cid's warmth, it was noticeable.
Venus Gospel slid from the floor like she was parting flesh from bone, more of that blackened dust following in an arc through the air as Cid moved her into a ready position.
"Right, door on the left first, then we hit the right. What d'ya reckon this place was even for anyway?"
"Some sort of travel, perhaps? I would have thought you the expert." Vincent pushed open the leftmost door with the point of his boot, and it swung open invitingly with nary a creak.
"What, ya think just 'cos it's some Shinra space junk I gotta be the expert on it all? Pfft." Cid followed, closer than a usual formation would require, his presence a familiar, warm comfort behind Vincent.
The corridor opened out into another room; this one rectangular, with organic shapes clustered against the right wall. They resembled nothing less than the usual sort of Shinra terminal, and Vincent wondered if perhaps they were only that but caught underneath the red dust until it transformed them into whatever this new substance was.
Oh, that was a thought. "We should take samples of the dust," Vincent said as Cid came up alongside him, one hand on his hip as he bent down to peer at the humped terminals. "And no, I just defer to your expertise on things that appear like they might be ships."
Cid bumped him with his shoulder, but he was too focused on his examination to reply. He reached forward with his gloved hand and ran his finger along the top of one of the shapes, red dust trailing it.
The motion revealed a glistening mass beneath the dust, glinting wetly in the baleful light as though it were raw and flayed flesh. The smell ripened, the sweetness beneath it growing cloying, and Vincent swore he saw a haze of the black dust at the peripheral of his vision, but when he turned his head there was nothing.
Nothing but more of these shapes, ominous and hulking, but melted somehow, as though they had been subsumed into the body of the structure.
A ridiculous concept, of course. If it was indeed a Shinra spaceship, then any terminals would be built into the walls — there was nothing sinister about it.
And yet…
Cid lifted his finger up and eyed it, and Vincent noticed with alarm that there was black dust creeping down to the very edge of his glove, slipping underneath the leather. "Huh," Cid said, as Vincent's vision blurred, once, then shivered back into place again.
No black dust to be seen.
Had there ever been any? He was fully aware of how the mind could play tricks under stress conditions, and this was hardly the type of place which lent itself to normalcy.
Cid's eyes widened, and he bent again to the terminal, this time placing his palm directly on the flattened front of it as though trying to activate whatever forgotten machinery lay beneath the crimson dust. His hand almost pushed into the terminal, and Vincent swore he saw an upwards trickle of black dust against all gravity before the vision of it shivered away once more.
He shook his head sharply; it didn't help.
And it didn't help Cid, whose hand now sunk into the mass to the wrist, past the seams of his gloves and up into his forearm. He opened his mouth as though to cry out, but no sound came from his lips.
Vincent's vision blurred once more. He blinked.
Blinked again.
He was against the wall opposite Cid.
"I'll just rest a moment, Chief," he mumbled, head leaning back against the wall. Spongey and comfortable, it cradled him like a pillow, welcoming him into its embrace even as it welcomed Cid.
Vincent's eyes slipped closed. Open again. There was Cid, opposite. Sitting at the terminal, now, hands in their usual steering position. Legs normal. Mouth not a rictus of terror. No sound of screams, no sound at all.
Rest.
His eyes closed, then opened again, his noise of surprise at the sight before him stymied somehow.
There are colours everywhere — confetti and streamers, decorations hung by Marlene atop Barret's shoulders, and Cloud under duress. The sound of music drifts into the warm room, some tinny recording that Cid had managed to unearth and fit into Tifa's jukebox with his usual engineer's aplomb.
The tables of the Seventh Heaven have been carefully moved aside, their chairs stacked neatly against the walls to make a wide open space which is filled with excitement and shouting. Someone in the background singing raucously along to the record — ah, Cid — and Vincent's cheeks warm at the sound of it.
There is food laid atop the bar, and a pile of paper plates with glasses full to the brim of some cocktail or other Tifa is testing out, something based off their journey, he thought she'd said. A memory of friends lost along the way.
This is their moment of peace. Their breather, after the Northern Crater, and all Vincent can do is stand and watch, apart from the celebrations as he feels himself slipping apart from the group, now that their work is done. They have ties to each other, ties to this world of the waking, and even though he feels unburdened — just a little — by their deeds and by visiting Lucrecia's cave, taking that first step— it feels like his feet have been encased in stone.
He can no more join this dancing and joy than he can confess his feelings to Cid. Than he can stay within this world of vital, waking life.
No. He will drink his cocktail and slip away, as is his lot in life.
He peers into the drink, sparkling with something green and potent, and just as he takes a sip, a rush of colour and energy appears in front of him.
"Vince!" Cid's hands clasp his elbows and he spins them both in a circle, unheeding of the cocktail in Vincent's flesh-and-blood hand. "We're home and alive, we're partyin', and you are not standing there in the damn corner all night! Dance with me?"
Cid's eyes sparkle up at him, and through the thumping of his heart, Vincent feels warmth settle into his bones. Perhaps he does not have to slip away…
He nods, hesitant but wanting, and then they're off, cocktail be damned. He manages somehow to set the glass down on the bartop as Cid spins him away, hands holding his waist and they're warm and big and so strong that he feels blood rush to his cheeks.
They get caught up in the music, and without him realising it, Vincent's hands hold Cid too; metal at his waist, flesh twining their fingers together as they sway, closer and closer now as the music deepens, the whole world narrowed to this man, his heartbeat against Vincent's chest like a bright beacon of home.
He isn't sure which of them leans in first, but their lips press together, chaste and so so careful, and—
—and this did not happen.
The heartbeat at his chest tasted like Chaos on his tongue, cloying black dust in his nose, and anger rippled through Vincent with the shockwaves of loss, bringing transformation in its wake.
His body changed, enflaming, burning away the too-soft flesh holding him to its walls. A shriek — from his own throat or the structure's he did not know — and he was free and bleeding freer, eyes narrowed to one thing and one thing only: Cid.
Engulfed by red, pulsating flesh, forced into a sitting position with roots strangling him, entering his skin like veins of poisoned blood bleeding the life from him heartbeat by heartbeat.
Vincent's claws were sharp, his rage sharper. He sliced through the roots one after the other, pulling out their remains with only enough care to ensure Cid was harmed no further, and then the structure pulsed, its scream louder. No more was that horrid, muffled, waiting silence; all now was roiling motion and noise.
Vincent-as-Chaos lifted Cid easily, and with a brief pause to pick up Venus Gospel, he began to run, little flaps of his wings buoying them onwards and outwards until they reached the beautiful, blessed air of Gongaga, just as damp and warm as when they'd entered this cursed place.
He unfurled his wings, beating them once to catch his balance and turning, cupping his body around Cid as streaks of black and red dust streaked out from the structure, reaching for them with another wild scream.
Vincent's wings buoyed them upwards and away, but it would not be enough to escape this thing and leave it there, ready to ensnare any other curious explorer.
There was dynamite in Cid's pack, Vincent-as-Chaos remembered, and the ever-present flip lighter Cid favoured was tucked in its usual pocket on the front of his jacket, snug next to the packet of cigarettes.
Vincent-as-Chaos bore them higher, landing on a tall outcropping of rock sheltered by trees. He set Cid down gently, leaning him up against a wide trunk with Venus Gospel laid at his side. A careful listen proved that he was still breathing, and even more careful clawed hands retrieved dynamite and lighter both.
"I will be back," Vincent promised, pushing a lock of Cid's hair from where it had fallen over his forehead. "Wait for me."
And then he was off, diving into the sky and plummeting down towards the hellish structure. It seemed to sense his arrival, another plume of black rising up to greet him.
The damp air stirred his hair as he landed with a soft thump, clawed feet cushioned by moss and debris that he now recognised as tainted by the red dust from within. Had some of those humped shapes within once been other living beings? How many others had this thing claimed?
No more.
Inhaling deeply of untainted air, Vincent beat his wings ahead of him, blowing away the encroaching dust enough that he could get in closer. He eyed the dynamite — its fuse was long enough to give a person on two legs time to set it and escape, but he had wings.
The application of a razor sharp claw trimmed down the fuse and before the dust could take him, he lit the end and sprang into the air, flying directly for the entranceway.
His muscles bunched and using the momentum, he flung the dynamite through the door, then forced his wings to take him up and away even as tendrils of dust reached for him, wrapped about his ankle and began to trail up—
And then: brightness. The now-familiar noise of Cid's dynamite, booming through the air. Impact that shook the very trees around him, and a great wave of pressure and heat that flung him horn over hoof through the air until he landed in a great crash of leathery wings.
The crackle of burning behind him was underscored with a dreadful keening as the structure shrivelled and died.
He took a moment to collect his senses, then clutching tightly onto Chaos, he limped back into the air and flew for Cid.
Cid, who had awoken in his absence, and who looked up dazedly as Vincent landed on hands and knees in front of him.
"Was that what I think it was?" he said, slurring a little.
Vincent-as-Chaos nodded, sombre, and Cid grinned up at him, pumping one fist in the air tiredly.
"Hell yeah! Couldn't wait 'til I could see it though, could ya? Rude, Vince."
"I would not have risked you." Vincent stamped down the flaring growl of annoyance from Chaos, claws flexing. "I'm going to fly us back to the Highwind. Do not struggle."
Cid opened his mouth to say something — probably to swear — but his words were promptly cut off when Vincent leaned in and scooped him up once more along with Venus Gospel. Cid's arm wrapped around his neck, and as Vincent sprang into the air again, he reached up and ran his fingers through the trailing edges of Chaos' wild hair.
The Highwind was just as they'd left her, and as soon as Vincent had deposited Cid gently onto his bed, he finally allowed Chaos to slip away, leaving him staggering to his knees, pitching forward and coming to rest against Cid's thigh.
His eyes fluttered closed with weariness, and he inhaled sharply as Cid's hand came to rest in his hair again, this time with intent.
"You've got more control over it now," Cid said above him, fingers stroking through Vincent's hair. "Guess that's how we got outta that place, eh?"
Vincent shuddered out a sigh, smelling blood and burnt, rotting plant matter, then forced himself to his feet. "You need medical treatment," he managed, feeling the dark pitching of loss at the lack of Cid's touch. "The structure, it had its claws in you, and that is no euphemism."
He pointed at Cid's arms, where his jacket had been torn by the pulsing, evil veins of the structure, where blood oozed in slow trickles between the tears.
"Stings like hell," Cid said. He picked at one of the edges of torn denim, wincing as it peeled away from crusted blood. He looked up at Vincent, then, sharp eyes narrowing. "It got you too, Vince. Ya don't have to just be takin' care of me. I can see you're dead on yer feet."
"You were under for longer." Vincent turned and walked to the large set of drawers against one wall. "Where do you keep the medical supplies?"
"Got a big Curaga on Venus Gospel, don't be an idiot and get over here."
Ah, the materia, of course. Vincent shook his head to try dispel the dizziness, but all he could see was Cid, subsumed into that structure, being slowly devoured from the inside out. All his blood, his life being pulled out of him like he was nothing but feeding stock, and then Vincent would be alone all over again, just as he deserved...
"Vince?" Cid's voice was closer, and Vincent opened his eyes to see Cid's brilliant blue gaze right in front of him. To feel the warmth of his hands at both his arms, steering him over to the bed with shaky steps. "Sit your ass down and let me take care of you too, ya hear me?"
Vincent sat, and then the next thing he knew he was shivering under the cool application of high level curative magic. He breathed out as he felt it go to work, and then again as he realised it was twinned with a wide-spreading materia that ensured it also enveloped Cid in its healing.
"There. Not perfect, but it'll take the edge off." Cid sat down on the bed next to Vincent then took his hand in both of his own. It was warm, and Vincent realised he'd taken his boots and his gloves off at some point because he could feel the rough callouses of Cid's fingers against his skin. "You with me, Vince?"
Vincent cleared his throat, eyes drawn to Cid's fingers, the knob of bone at his wrist and his multiple ragged hangnails. "I'm with you, Chief." He pulled his gaze away from Cid's hand and up to his face, searching for signs of pain or distress, but he found only a sort of soft fondness. That look again.
"What did you see?" Cid asked, softly as though to not break the moment.
"Our party, from after Meteorfall. But it was— it was different. Wrong."
"Oh, a good memory, that 'un. I uh… always kinda wished it'd gone different, though. One of my biggest regrets, maybe? I dunno…"
His eyes flicked down to Vincent's lips then back up again.
"What did you see?"
"It was stupid."
"Cid."
"Aw alright, fine. Remember that one night when we were on the way to the Crater? Everyone was asleep, I was on first watch but you came up on top of Highwind with me. Couldn't sleep, you said."
"I remember." The air had been cool and calm, the world unaware of what was about to befall it even despite the meteor shining dully in the sky. Cid's shoulder had been warm against his, and they'd shared a cigarette, Vincent's heart aching each time it touched his lips.
"Well, it was that. But uh. Aw shit, grow some balls, Highwind. Alright, it was that but I kissed you." The words came out in a tumble, and Cid looked away, face furiously red. "Made me not wanna wake up. I was fine just stayin' there, in that moment."
Vincent's breath quickened, and his fingers tightened on Cid's. "That was how I knew mine wasn't real," he whispered. "It was trying to keep us under, giving us visions of what we wanted so we'd stay there."
"But you didn't. Stay, I mean."
"I knew it wasn't real. Chaos knew. And you were in danger."
"What wasn't real?"
Vincent's cheeks felt as hot as the explosion from Cid's dynamite, but he couldn't stop looking at Cid, at his lips and the few days of stubble on his face. He leaned in and with the softest exhale of a sigh, kissed him.
"That," he breathed against Cid's lips. His heart was like a bird fluttering in a cage, and he could almost hear Cid's own, his pulse hammering against his hand.
Cid grinned at him, wild and happy, and then leaned in, pushing Vincent down onto the bed and kissing him with such ferocity it took his breath away.
Vincent melted up into him. He pushed his flesh-and-blood hand up and into Cid's hair while his claws removed his jacket with infintesimal care, pushing it off his broad shoulders.
"Please," he whispered, urgently, "Cid, please—"
Cid sat up and flung his jacket across the room along with his goggles, then, watching Vincent the whole time, peeled off his torn shirt — this in an emerald green Vincent had never seen him wearing before — wincing a little as it pulled away from where the fabric had stuck to his wounds. It followed the jacket and goggles and sailed across the room, and Vincent couldn't keep his hands from reaching up for him, from placing his palm over Cid's heart to feel it thumping, from tracing his claws most delicately over the line of his hips and the dimple of his waist. Though he could not feel it, the sight of Cid's copious chest hair against his golden claws sent a shiver through Vincent, and then Cid bent and kissed him again, desperate and greedy.
"I'm here," he said between kisses, "I ain't goin' anywhere Vince, I— fuck you're so gorgeous, lemme get you outta these things."
His hands were deft as he stripped Vincent out of his clothes, piece by piece. The sharp tugs of fabric from wounds grounded Vincent in the sensations and he focused on that, on the feel of Cid's calloused fingers finally against his skin for more than just an incidental touch. They were rough but so solid and real and finally touching him that Vincent couldn't help but arch into it, breath coming faster and then a sharp inhale as Cid skimmed over his prosthetic, the join of it to his twisted, scarred arm.
"Too much?"
"Just— just a little intense," Vincent gasped. "Like fireworks under my skin. No-one's ever—"
Cid made a noise low in his throat and then bent and nuzzled against it, pressing the softest of kisses against the scar tissue before moving up to his collarbone with wet, open-mouthed kisses as though he wanted to devour Vincent whole. He would not complain if he did.
His hands wandered over Cid's back, through his short hair as Cid moved further down, fingers grabbing on as he reached his stomach, the edge of his belts.
Some of them had been punctured, he realised abstractly as Cid began to go to work on the buckles, but it was hard to think about that when Cid was swearing up a storm down there.
"Damn fucking buckles, Vince why'd ya gotta wear so many damned belts," he grumbled, but the gleam in his eye and the triumph in his voice were enough of a balm to bely his grousing. Vincent gasped when they came loose, and then Cid, as though having had enough of all the clothes, nearly tore the trousers and boots off him in his haste.
Vincent just watched, wide-eyed and biting his lip, as Cid ran both palms down his hips. His skin shivered beneath that touch and he arched up against Cid as he bent to kiss his thighs where the structure's veins had punctured, the crease of his hip, and then, oh then, finally taking his cock in those calloused fingers and licking the length of it from root to tip.
"C-Cid," Vincent moaned, "this is unfair, you—" he gasped as Cid took the head of his cock into his mouth, looking up at him with roguish eyes, "—you still have your pants on!" The words came out hoarse, and Vincent spluttered as Cid suddenly sat upright again, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.
"Shit, you're right. Gotta remedy that, eh? Can't ride you with my pants still on, hah!"
Ride him? Shit…
Vincent reached down and with a deft claw, sliced the button straight off Cid's pants, pulling them open with a swift motion. "Off," he growled, "now, Chief."
"Shit, Vince…" Cid's hips rolled against his clawed hand and Vincent had to breathe deep and exert all the control at his disposal to stop himself from grabbing Cid's hip with his claws, from digging them in and drawing yet more blood.
Cid obliged, though, and with gratifying haste he shimmied out of his trousers and shoved them off the end of the bed. His cock stood proud and hard, and Vincent reached for it, wrapping his flesh hand about it with a little gasp that echoed Cid's deeper groan.
"Lubrication?" Vincent suggested, watching intently as he smeared beads of pre-come around Cid's cock, cataloguing the way it slipped against the pads of his fingers and especially the way that it made Cid bite off another groan like music to his starved ears. He thought about how Cid might sound full of his cock, and his grip tightened. "Now," he growled, and it was gratifying to see Cid immediately scramble, looking around as though it wasn't his own cabin they were in.
"Uh, fuck. Shit, drawer," he managed, flailing in the direction of the neat set of steel drawers next to the head of the bed.
"Convenient," Vincent murmured with a huff of laughter. He let go of Cid with some reluctance, twisting round and rummaging until he managed to locate the bottle — it was a bit grimy, with fingerprints on the glass and the lid was a gummy around the edge from obvious usage. Vincent held it up to the light, eyeing it critically. "And clean. Hm."
Cid swatted him on the hip then grabbed the bottle from his hand, pulling the lid off with his teeth and spitting it across the room then upending it directly into his palm. "Quit yer bitching, I'm a bachelor, ain't I?" The bottle landed on the bed next to Vincent's belly as Cid bent forward over him, heavily lubricated hand shifting back and between his cheeks.
His head came to rest against Vincent's chest, cheek pressed against his skin, and Vincent couldn't help but cradle it, hand in his hair and the back of his clawed fingers trailing down his broad shoulders.
He wished he could see what Cid was doing, but his noises and the way he moved against Vincent were gratifying anyway, and it wasn't long before he was shifting again, pushing himself up and settling back down again with Vincent's cock pressed between his cheeks, hard and desperate and wanting.
It took but a roll of his hips and he was inside Cid, nothing slow or hesitant left in him in the face of that heat and tightness.
Cid swore, head down and hair going everywhere, one hand fisted into the bedsheets and the other planted across Vincent's heart, and then he began to move with him, slow and langorous and near overwhelming with how good it felt.
"Cid…" Vincent breathed. He reached up and pulled Cid down by his dogtags, kissing him as he thrust in deeper, shuddering and moaning into his mouth, against his tongue.
"Fuck, Vince, you— you feel so fucking good." Cid sunk a hand into Vincent's hair and cupped his face with the other, both forearms framing his head as he moved, fucking himself on Vincent's cock true to his word.
If Vincent thought Cid touching his ruined flesh was overwhelming, it was nothing to the feeling of his cock deep inside Cid, hot and tight and so sweet he could cry. Better than anything he'd ever dreamed — and oh, he had dreamed — and more than he'd ever thought to be given.
He held onto Cid's hip for dear life with his flesh hand, his claws curving round to prick at his ass cheek, not even enough control to stop himself from it.
Cid groaned against his lips, bucked into the touch. "Yeah, fuck, keep that there, goddamn…"
"Cid, I— I think I—" Vincent arched against him, cresting a wave of pleasure that overtook his senses entirely. He dug his claws and fingers into Cid's flesh and spilled his seed deep inside, completely bottomed out and out of his mind with the intensity of his orgasm, Cid's scent in his nose, his hard, beautiful thighs gripping him tight as he rocked him through it.
Both Cid's hands sunk into Vincent's hair and he bent to kiss him deeper, his moans husky and full of as much emotion as Vincent felt. "Not— not gonna be far behind," he panted, lips wet against Vincent's.
His cock still inside Cid, Vincent whimpered. He gentled his claws on Cid's ass, slipped his flesh hand between them and took hold of Cid's cock, letting him rut into his palm and fingers as he chased his own orgasm, before he came with a torrent of swear words muffled against Vincent's collarbone, his seed smearing wet and hot between their bellies.
Cid collapsed on top of him, panting and shuddering every now and then, his stubble a pleasing edge of feeling against Vincent's neck. He snuggled into Vincent further, a groan muffled in his hair.
"Gonna stay here," he mumbled, his whole body convulsing in another huge shudder. "'m the best blanket."
Vincent laughed, then winced as the motion made his softening cock slip from Cid's ass. "Can't argue with that, Chief."
He wrapped both arms around Cid, holding him close and burying his nose in his hair. "Thought I was going to lose you," he murmured into Cid's hair, after a moment. "Without getting to do any of this."
"I know," Cid replied, voice equally muffled. "Glad you were there. Glad Chaos was there. Even though it was really fucked up, glad we went."
He went quiet for a moment, and Vincent contented himself with running his hand over as much of Cid's skin as he could reach; all across his back and his waist, the delicious swell of his ass. He thought with distinct pleasure that he could lay like this forever, Cid's comforting, sweaty weight on top of him a fair improvement on the dimness of his coffin and the weight of stone pressing down from above.
"Cid?" he said, before he lost his nerve, "what will you do, after this?"
Cid lifted up, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at Vincent with the softest, gentlest smile. "Well, I reckon that's half up to you, Vince. Ya gonna go back to the manor?"
"I—" Vincent paused, imagining the echoing draughts of the mansion, the distant cries of the fiends who made it their home. The cobwebs and the permanent, quiet chill, and the complete, distinct lack of Cid. "I think I would rather not."
Cid laughed, disbelieving. "Atta boy," he said with a blinding grin, then bent and kissed him right behind the jawline. "There's a place for ya, ya know. Here, with me? If ya want it, anyway. Though Gaia knows I'm a messy housemate. And it's been said I snore."
Vincent couldn't hold back a laugh. "I couldn't ask for anything better."