Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Don’t worry, these parachutes are top of the line,” Cid says, voice filled with slightly too much glee. “Just pull the cord and pop! You’ll be floating through the air like a feather.”

You don’t think anyone believes him.

There are apprehensive looks all around as everyone triple checks their harnesses and the backpacks attached to them. Vincent had helped you put yours on, crossing the straps over your chest with a roll of his eyes and no comment as everyone shrugged them on like a backpack. You have no idea what the difference is.

A lot of pitiable looks are directed at you, but that’s fine, understandable even, with your fear of heights and falling and all that. Except that the temple of the ancients beat the fear of heights out of you with trauma, but the falling, well, you’re not quite sure how you’re going to react to that.

“You sure?” you ask over the wind rushing across the Highwind deck, turning towards Cid.

“Of course,” he grins, stepping closer to throw his arm around your shoulder. “I packed ‘em myself and you trust me, don’t ya?”

There’s a few seconds pause between his words and the eventual, apprehensive nod of your head.

“Aww, come on now. I don’t actually want ya to get hurt, even if you did defile my pilot seat.”

Vincent laughs from nearby and then immediately tries unsuccessfully to cover it up with a cough.

“And if I’d known you were never gonna shut up about it,” you reply, shrugging yourself out from underneath Cid’s arm, “then I would have desecrated it”

“That’s the spirit,” Cid grins, slapping you on the back and stepping away.

You step up to the edge of the deck, Vincent beside you and stare over the edge. You’re high up, but almost too high, the ground too far away to trigger any sort of fear. The rushing of the wind feels good, thrilling, the last bastion of leaving Midgar that you haven’t yet conquered.

“Catch me if my chute doesn’t open,” you tell Vincent, not turning to look at him. It’s not a question.

He nods, humming in the affirmative. “Try not to break a shoulder this time.”

“Fuck you,” you snap back at him with humour.

“Later,” he deadpans.

“Hmmm,” you tease. “Last one to the ground has to steal Cid’s keys.”

You jump over the edge without waiting for a response, laughing in the wind as you fall into the infinite blue of the sky.

Chapter Text

"I can't believe you actually stole Cid's keys," you whisper, trying to be quiet and patient, hiding your excitement as Vincent fiddles with the lock on the door leading to the cockpit. It's late at night, the hallway lit only by dim, emergency lighting. The ship is docked, all of the crew either in port or asleep; there should be no one around to disturb you.

"Borrowed," Vincent corrects, murmuring softly as metal finally slides into place. He pushes open the door and holds it open, slipping inside behind you then locking it, shutting the both of you off completely from the outside world.

"He won't notice they're missing right?"

Vincent shakes his head. "He got into the scotch."

"And I bet that decision had absolutely nothing to do with you," you tease, pushing Vincent back up against the door.

He hums in response, allowing himself to be moved. You support yourself against his body as you kiss him, tasting the barest hint of alcohol on his breath; Cid had definitely opened the good stuff. Deepening the kiss, you lose yourself against Vincent, allowing the heady taste on his breath to overwhelm you and bring you into the moment.

Vincent's breathing is noticeably heavier when you pull away, lust clear in the glow of his red eyes. "I only had one drink," he reassures, voice deep and clearly affected. Taking your hand, he drags you across the room, to the main reason that you're here.

The Highwind pilot seat is directly in the centre of the gigantic front windows, allowing a 180 degree view of the airship's surroundings. It's dark outside, the ship facing the wall of the pen at the harbour. There's no risk of anyone being in front of it or being able to see in. The chair itself is larger than the one on the tiny bronco and much more luxurious. Covered with padded leather, the armrests are plush and thick, the base of the seat ergonomically shaped. You whisper a quick prayer, hoping that the material will be easy to wipe clean. There's plenty of room between the seat and the wheel and control panels, everything made to slide back and forth to make it easy to control.

Vincent looks down at you, mischief in his eyes as he sits down in the seat. He looks like he belongs there, which you suppose he sort of does. Spreading his legs slightly, he taps subtly at his thigh, an invitation that you take without hesitation. You climb easily into his lap, settling there like it's second nature, because it is.

Thinking back, you remember how apprehensive you'd felt the last time you'd been in this position on the bronco. You had been so unsure of what to expect when Vincent had pulled you into his lap and spoken lowly into your ear, describing exactly what he'd been fantasising about while listening to static on the radio all day. There's no apprehension in your mind now though as you kiss him, licking at his lips until he allows your questing tongue inside.

Pushing your fingers into his hair, you tighten them at the base of his skull, twisting at a thick handful. Tugging until he groans, you pull until his head falls backwards so you can bite at the pale skin of his throat, grinding your hips down into the quickly growing bulge at his crotch. His hands grips your waist tightly, pulling you against him, keeping you secure as he allows you to tease him.

"Did you ever fantasise about this while you were flying?" you ask Vincent, taking a break as you pull yourself your lips from his cock with a pop, licking away the taste of salt. You're between his legs, kneeling on the floor, mostly fully clothed and wet but managing to hold it together. Vincent is a bit more of a mess, his pants undone, fly ripped open and underwear hastily dragged downwards. His shaft is shiny, dripping with your saliva and his own arousal, throbbing and flushed at the tip.

Vincent forces his eyes open, dragging his head forward to look down at you. The sight of you makes him shudder as he nods, biting at his lip.

"Describe it to me," you tease, leaning down to lick at his shaft. Running your tongue all the way up the side of it, his hips buck as he watches you, eyes focused and unblinking.

Vincent swallows heavily, trying to speak but his throat his dry. His voice is a rasp as he clears his this throat, stuttering as you distract him by licking at sensitive flesh. "There is not enough room on a helicopter for this."

"Hmm?" you question, running your tongue over the fresh bead of precome that wells from his tip. Whatever he's imagining, he's definitely into it. "What did you think about then?"

"I will need to show you," he groans, gesturing carefully for you to get up from the floor.

This is ridiculous, Vincent is actually insane; honestly, you should have expected it. He's sitting back in the pilot seat, leaning against it, comfortable while he holds you upside down. Your legs are up on his shoulders, the heat of his breath whispering across your folds while the head of his cock leaks just in front of your eyes. He's strong and you feel secure as he pulls you close, one arm wrapped against your thigh with his other across your hip.

His lips are at your inner thigh, kissing and licking, teasing soft, little bites as he breathes in your scent. Your thighs quiver with anticipation. With your hands and arms braced against his thighs, holding yourself upside down, you feel lightheaded, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Vincent licks you, tongue immediately at your clit; always an expert marksman. You make an undignified noise as he groans at your taste, already wanting more. His hands tighten at your thigh as he yanks you closer, pressing his entire face into your folds as he starts to feast.

His touch is overwhelming as usual. He knows exactly what he's doing and the extra static of his touch, pooling at the base of your spine enhances everything. You lick pathetically at his cock as it bobs in front of you, not quite having the coordination in this position to properly service him. You know he doesn't mind, that he prefers it this way, prefers being able to focus completely on you and your pleasure.

He touches you everywhere, burying his face between your legs, licking and sucking with ridiculous precision. The blood is pooling in your head, your ears ringing and thoughts sluggish but it only enhances the feeling of him touching you. He's groaning at your taste, the vibrations a pure, crashing pleasure as your thighs begin to shake.

"Fuck, Vincent," you cry out, probably too loudly as suddenly one of his thick fingers slides inside of you. The angle is different to usual, somewhat backwards, crooked differently and extra intense.

Vincent hums, unable to speak and unwilling to pull away as he carefully stretches you open, licking at your bud to ease his way.

The sound is obscene, a squelching wet echoing through the room, off the glass of the windshield. He adds another finger, pistoning both of them in and out, immediately hitting your spot as you writhe in his grasp, knowing that you're safe and that he won't let you go.

Precome leaks from Vincent's tip, running in thick drops down his cock as you draw closer to the edge, spiking his arousal. You're too uncoordinated to lick them up, struggling as your nails dig into his thighs, your teeth against the leather of his pants, still hastily pulled down and messy. You're trying to be quiet, to not alert anyone outside as to what is going on, even knowing the door is locked.

Vincent doesn't stop, doesn't give you a break. He forces you higher and higher, tongue flicking expertly at your bud while his fingers work effortlessly inside of you. All you can hear is thrusting and sucking, the sound overwhelming as the heat between your legs continues to build. Your thighs are shaking, body held at the precipice as thinking and focusing becomes difficult. You shudder in his arms, whispering his name and begging for more, which only makes more fluid drip down his cock as he tightens his grip, moving rapidly to force you over the edge.

Light bursts behind your eyes, ears ringing from the blood pooling in your head as electricity, pressure and wetness gathers between your hips, whiting out everything except the pleasure. Something hot splashes at your chest, marking your neck but you don't have enough brain power to work out what it is. Vincent continues to feast on you, lapping up your release as he strokes the quivering bud of your clit with his tongue, fanning the flames of pleasure.

You feel completely boneless, shaking as you tap pathetically at Vincent's thigh, trying to get him to turn you right way up. He does, effortlessly pulling you into his arms, sideways across his lap. The blood rushes from your head, making you feel dizzy and overwhelmed by gravity. You shut your eyes for a moment, stars spinning behind your eyelids, trying to gain your composure before looking up at Vincent.

His face is soaked with your release, impossibly soaked, more than normal. His lips, chin and jaw are sticky, thick drops even managing to run down his neck. It's on his cheeks, in his hair and splattered on the back rest of the pilot seat on either side of his head.

Fuck.

Vincent's face is flushed a bright red, his breathing heavy, head hanging as he tries to regain his own composure. Your chest is wet, liquid cooling and you look down, realising that he came, untouched, cock spurting up to paint your skin because you squirted all over his face.

You're mortified.

"Do not hide from me," he murmurs, sounding almost drunk, delirious as his fingers lift at your chin, forcing you to look up at the absolutely mess you made of him. "You wanted not just to defile this chair, but desecrate it."

"I—I wasn't—"

"Come," he encourages, adjusting you in his arms. "Let us christen it properly."

Somehow, this feels even dirtier than what you were doing before. Your legs are spread open obscenely, knees resting on the armrests while you hold onto the back of the seat as Vincent fucks into you roughly from behind. Your chest is squashed into the leather, your own release that painted the back of the chair mixing with the mess Vincent left on your chest. He holds you firmly, hand spread out across your hip, probably leaving bruises as his other braces against the chair.

He's groaning, panting by your ear, his breath hot against the bare skin of the back of your neck. It's a welcome distraction from the wet squelch of his cock thrusting into you and the slick running down your thighs. Even though you're overwhelmed, holding onto the back of the pilot seat for dear life, you still want more.

"The way that you feel," he moans by your ear, biting down on the lobe of it. He sounds broken, out of breath and desperate and you can tell he's getting close to his own release. You know that he won't lose himself until you do but it's endlessly fun to try and make him.

"You got me so wet, Vin," you hiss, struggling to be coherent as you hit one of his biggest kinks. "You did this to me, made me drench your face with just your fingers and your mouth."

His pace falters as teeth sink into the back of your shoulder, not quite hard enough to leave a mark. The heat of his body against your back is scorching, comforting and brutal as he regains his composure.

"Behave," he grunts, yanking your waist roughly to change the angle, tilting his hips until he's slamming up into you full force, the sweet curve of his cock hitting your spot. Heat immediately starts to gather between your hips, tingling spiralling upwards. He knows exactly how to play you.

He fucks into you roughly, knowing what you need even as he starts to struggle to hold on himself, relying on his enhanced strength and abilities to keep himself going, to not spill until you do.

"Vincent. Fuck," you groan, muttering incoherently, words breathy as he fucks you hard enough too push the air from your lungs. Reaching backwards, you pull at his hair, arching your back at the sound that he makes, pure pleasure and lust escaping from between his lips as he can't hold on any longer. His hips stutter, body seizing up and that's finally enough to push you over.

You fall forward, losing yourself on his cock as Vincent groans, biting at your shoulder, leaving a mark this time as he pushes his release inside of you with a few hard thrusts, tilting his hips to sink as deep inside of you as he can. Your legs tremble, feeling each throbbing pulse of his cock inside of you as it spurts.

Vincent is breathing heavily against your back, leaning almost his entire body weight against you, scorching hot. You wouldn't have it any other way. Pressing yourself against the back of the seat, you try to support him, sweat and body fluids having made the leather sticky and slippery.

Pulling out of you with a low, satisfied groan, Vincent murmurs your name. You gasp, hissing at the sudden feel of emptiness, missing him until the sound of something splattering on the seat underneath you hits your ears. You cringe, not wanting to look down at the mixture of your union dripping from your folds and staining the leather.

Vincent helps you off the seat, supporting your aching legs and sore knees off the padded armrests. He pulls you into his arms and sits back with you on the floor, putting you between his legs and pulling you against his chest. The wetness smeared across his pelvis sticks to your lower back, the sweat cooling against your bodies.

Feeling lightheaded and boneless, you lean against him, making the mistake of looking at the pilot seat and then instantly turning away. Fuck.

You didn't just defile or desecrate it, it's so much worse than that. The leather looks intact, not ripped or torn but the entire thing is covered in a mess of thick, mixed fluids; the imprint of your knees on the armrest and scratches on the metal of the side of it from Vincent's claws. There's no way you're going to be able to clean all of this up, you're not sure if it's even possible.

"Cid is going to kill us," you say, leaning your head back against Vincent's chest, enjoying the closeness and trying to forget about the real world and consequences.

Vincent hums nonchalantly behind you, sounding relaxed and satisfied.

"Trust you not to be worried," you sigh, burying yourself against his chest, enjoying the static aftershocks of his release at the base of your skull pressed against the scar at his chest. "But not all of us are immortal."

"I know how to clean fluids from leather," Vincent replies, delivery deadpan as he pulls you into a kiss, eclipsing you with his presence and forcing you to forget about everything else.

Epilogue

You can't stop staring at Cid the next day as he sits in the pilot seat, nursing a hangover while trying to raise the ship back up into the air. You're in the cockpit, strapped in with everyone else, waiting for the turbulence to stop, for it to be safe to walk around. Cid is cradling his head, frantically chewing at a piece of nicotine gum and muttering underneath his breath, complaining about the scent of bleach.

Vincent won't fucking stop smirking underneath his cowl, the expression probably invisible to everyone else, but you can read the scrunch of the lines at his eyes. You should have stolen one of his turtlenecks today, or a scarf, covered your own face so you weren't stuck staring into space, struggling to try keep it together.

"Fuck," Cid snaps, throwing himself back into the seat with frustration. The metal creaks ominously, something that should not happen from something so sturdy.

You practically stop breathing.

"Valentine," Cid calls out. "Come give me a cure, I can't concentrate."

Vincent sighs but dutifully stands up. Graceful and completely balanced even as the ship rocks slightly, he walks over to Cid. Placing his right hand on the top of Cid's head, green magic flows downwards and even after all this time, you still have no idea why Vincent's magic works on hangovers when no one else's usually does.

"The scent of chemicals here is strong," Vincent murmurs smugly, stepping away from Cid immediately once the magic stops. You wonder if anyone else can hear the humour in the tone of his voice like you can.

"Got no idea why the cleaning crew would have been in here yesterday," Cid replies absent mindedly. "Thought they had the afternoon off. No one asked for my keys, it was just the both of us last night—" he trails off and turns his head, staring up at Vincent with horror.

Vincent just blinks at him.

"Are ya' fucking kidding me?!" Cid yells, trying to jump up off the seat, getting tangled up in his seatbelt in the process. Struggling to unbuckle himself he jumps up, turning around to stare at the chair he's so proud of.

It's spotless of course, Vincent did an amazing job of cleaning up last night, but you're horrified and embarrassed as Cid's eyes focus on the clear imprint of your teeth at the top of it.

Vincent turns on his heel and walks away, cape fluttering, saying nothing as Cid rants at his back.

"Everyone out!" Cid yells, stomping out of the room. "We're not going anywhere this morning. I need to go buy a goddamn new seat."