Note Games

BY : MintFlavoured
Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Cid/Vincent
Dragon prints: 700
Disclaimer: I do not own nor make profit from Final Fantasy VII and its characters.


Woven Ties


Note Games


AN: This was written well over a year ago, but it was sat on my comp without an ending. So I managed to find time to finish it, woot. You don't have to read Woven Ties to understand anything.


//

 

   Bathroom. That was all the note had said. The note that had been lying where he should have been that morning, basking in a small ray of sunlight that had slipped through the gap in the blue curtains.

   Vincent eyed the note curiously and sat up in bed. The duvet slipped from his naked chest as he glanced around Cid’s bedroom. Their bedroom. Not that he expected to find Cid there when he had so obviously left this post-it note on the pillow. The gunman reached and picked up the note, turning it over just in case there was anything on the other side. There wasn’t, but underneath the note on the pillow was a small, silver key. Curious. He took it in hand, slipped from the duvet and entered the en suite with the paper between his fingers, looking at the key in the others. It didn’t take much searching to find what he was supposed to be looking for in the bathroom. Vincent approached the sink, eyeing the cupboard mirror above it. On it was stuck another note. Vincent pulled it off gently.

   Get washed and dressed, it read. Vincent blinked at it, as though Cid had just given him a verbal order with one of his rough grins and a waiting posture. Inquisitively, Vincent put the notes and the key down on the side and obeyed them…for now. Was Cid teasing him? He would see.

   A minute later Vincent stepped out of the bathroom and found his leather and cape folded neatly on the chair in Cid’s bedroom. He pulled on his black outfit, fastening all the belts leisurely and securing his gun holster. He was too cautious to leave it behind, even in the peaceful town of Cid’s home. Old habits die hard. He smoothed the snagged leather under the waist belts and then threw his cape around him. Something yellow caught his eye and he ignored the buckles to pull the third note from his cape.

   Leaves of necessity.

   Vincent stared at it. So Cid was giving him riddles now. Were they going to lead him somewhere? The gunman grabbed the other notes, in order of finding them, and tucked them into the top waist belt. The key went into his gun holster. He grabbed and sheathed his gun, and then glanced around the room, mind ticking over. He looked absently at the wall before him, pondering, and then moved towards the door, leaving the bedroom and descending the stairs. He entered the kitchen to the sounds of utensils clinking.

   Shera was making herself what looked and smelt like jam on toast. She glanced at him from her task and smiled warmly. “Morning.” Her cheeriness seemed fueled by something more than her usual good nature, and he had a feeling she was clued in on Cid’s strange note trail.

   He gave her a nod of greeting and watched her put away the jam. “Is Cid about?” He asked, his deep voice smooth and fully capable of winning wars.

   Her expression confirmed his suspicions. “I haven’t seen him,” she replied innocently, pausing to mimic a gesture of thoughtfulness. She glanced back at him and smiled, then took her breakfast with her to the circular table.

   Vincent watched her. So whatever game Cid was playing he had obviously asked Shera to play along. No matter, Vincent wasn’t going to pester the woman. He was obviously meant to follow the notes himself, so that was exactly what he would do. Which brought him to the strange words of the last note. Leaves of necessity.He looked slowly around the kitchen. Of the three notes he had received the first two had been in a vague order of routine. Vincent would always use the bathroom firstly before getting dressed. Then he would come down for breakfast. He was fairly sure his clue was in this room, and as he tried to walk in Cid’s shoes and understand that strange mind of his partner’s, the answer hit him.

   Tea leaves.

   Cid always had a morning cup of tea before anything. He couldn’t do without it. This, Vincent knew as well as he knew his own morning routine. He walked over to the small container holding the tea leaves and opened the little wooden lid. Inside was another note, and he took it out.

   Eat breakfast.

   The gunman glanced at Shera over the note, who was busy with her drink and food, though there was a smile on her face she couldn’t control. Vincent looked back at the note and sighed. Was Cid going to walk him through his entire day? Just what was his reason behind these notes? Of course, the only way to find out would be to follow them. Usually Vincent wouldn’t be interested in a seemingly childish game, but Cid wasn’t one to start something like this without some cause. He had something up his sleeve.

   So Vincent made himself something light to eat. He toasted himself two slices of bread and took it to the table, where Shera was reading a woman’s magazine, enjoying her drink, her plate empty save for a few breadcrumbs. Vincent eyed her as he sat down, wondering if Cid had told her his ploy, or simply asked her to not give Vincent his whereabouts. She caught his eye and smiled before returning to the article she was reading.

   A few minutes later, during which Shera read aloud to Vincent a story that had caught her astonishment, the gunman finished his meal and rose from his seat. He walked over to the sink and deposited his used plate into the basin – to find another note waiting for him. Vincent cocked his head. Cid knew he always put his pots in the sink after using them. He had obviously thought about how Vincent would move about the kitchen. Since the tea container was on the other countertop the gunman wouldn’t have seen this in the sink.

   Shera, the fourth note read.

   Vincent turned and looked at the woman’s back. She glanced over her shoulder, having been expecting his gaze. Obviously she had known the note was there. Her brown eyes met his. “I’m your next note,” she said, giving him an amused grin. “Bed of red, is all he said… and yes, I know that rhymes.”

   He gave her a similar look as he gave the note and then shook his head, bemused. Cid was enjoying himself wherever he was. Vincent left Shera smiling to herself and walked through the kitchen to the front door. He stepped out to a warm, gentle breeze, which fluttered his bangs and tickled his cheeks. It was a nice day. He looked to his right at the rose bush that stood outside the house. As expected, nestled among the flower heads was another note, contrasting against the brilliant red of the petals. Vincent pushed his gloved hand past a thorny stem and pulled the note from the roses.

   Turn around.

   Vincent cast his red eyes over his shoulder before he did so. Opposite him on the grass was a wrench. It was one of Cid’s much-used tools, and Cid never used it without putting it back in his tool case. Vincent crouched down and picked up the wrench. It was heavy for a small object, but clean despite its obvious well-use. The gunman rose back up to his feet. There was a small tool shed in the back garden that Cid stored away all his equipment. Vincent headed there – cutting through the kitchen to get to the back door. Thankfully Shera had disappeared somewhere. He didn’t particularly want her to see him blatantly following the note’s directions.

   The only way to get into the back garden was through the house. It was otherwise fenced in. Vincent stepped out of the back door onto the line of paving stones and made his way left to the small tool shed. It was barely more than a wooden box propped against the side of the house, but it was probably the only thing of Cid’s that had a lock on it.

   Vincent reached into his holster and brought out the little key that had been lying on Cid’s pillow. He slid it into the keyhole and the lock sprang open. Opening the door, he found the gray tool case that held Cid’s expensive tools on a small shelf. The gunman bent down slowly and slid it out, propping it on his knee. Flicking the catches free, he opened the case to find a spare slot for the wrench, and a note. On it was an arrow pointing right. Vincent looked in its direction.

   Thumb tacked to the side was a photo of Vincent’s gun. It looked like it had been taken while Vincent had been asleep, in the dim-lighted bedroom. He pulled it off the wall and looked closely. The angle showed his weapon’s three barrels, and the delicate designs of the three hound heads. On the back of the image it read, Three is the magic number.

   Vincent’s pale brow creased slightly and he turned the picture over again to look at his gun. He stood upright and glanced around the tool shed. When he didn’t find anything relative in there he glanced at the garden behind him. He was mildly puzzled. Cid’s clue obviously led him to something involving the number three…but then, why was his gun relevant?

   A bird chirped from the fence over to the right, but he ignored it and let his mind whirl. Cid was giving him something to do, at least. Vincent had been finding his ‘settled’ life somewhat bland, lately; too used to being on the move, constantly seeing new places. His restlessness was momentarily forgotten in his pursuit of Cid’s notes. His mind ran over the possible meanings the latest one could mean. His gun…three barrels… The photo clearly showed the hound heads on the gun. Hounds.... dogs? Their neighbor had dogs. Three of them. They always barked at Vincent when they saw him… tried to hump his leg, as well… He couldn’t forget them living next door.

   Was it that easy? Still… what had Cid done? Stuck a note to one of those dogs?

   Vincent looked over across at the next house. Their houses were detached, so behind Cid’s border was the higher picket fence of the neighbor. With six feet on him, Vincent could see fine over the fence, and he glanced over cautiously.

   Two of the three little white dogs were sunbathing on the lawn. Thankfully, neither had a note attached to them. Instead, it was attached to the fence under Vincent’s very nose. However, he didn’t notice since he wasn’t hanging over it. Not until one of the little dogs caught his scent and recognized him. It bounced to its feet with a little bark and jumped up at the fence. Vincent stepped back. Why would Cid humiliate him like this? He sighed. Maybe he had bribed the neighbor to put the note on the dog’s collar. The gunman glanced over again to examine their collars, hearing both dogs now scratching at the fence,, but instead he caught sight of the note. He reached over and took it off, stepping back from the yapping of the dogs before the third could join the fray…or the neighbor.

   The latest note told him, Altitude. This was just as easy as the last. Altitude was the name of the red plane sat on Cid’s lawn. It was missing an engine, which was currently in Shera’s workroom. Cid enjoyed telling Vincent about his work, and he’d have known the gunman would remember.

   Altitude was the largest of the two planes Cid was fixing up. Its bright red color was faded due to age, but Cid insisted she would look as good as new when he was finished with her. Vincent walked around her slowly, studying the exterior. He couldn’t find anything stuck to the outer shell...

   It was inside the pilot’s cockpit. Vincent climbed up and found it waiting for him on the gauge reading. The wind caught his cape and it fluttered a little as he read the note. Almost there, it read. The dream began here. Vincent wondered why Cid was handing him such easy riddles. If the note implied Cid’s dream, the location would be the rocket launch site, where his dream of space began.

   Vincent leapt lightly to the ground and tucked the note into his belt with the others. He cast his eyes over to the mangled support beams jutting over the trees on the edge of Rocket Town. Would Cid be waiting for him there? One way to find out…

//

   It was only fifteen minutes later when he made it to the launch site. His boots clinked metallically in the silence of the wild surroundings as he came to a slow stop. Before him the huge structure of the rocket’s support beams rose high into the sky. Vincent glanced across. Eye level with him a note was stuck to the nearest beam. He walked over to it. An arrow had been scrawled on this one, like the other, pointing left. Vincent looked over, and slowly began to walk around the huge structure. Another note with the same directional arrow pointed him on, and another, and another. It was leading him around the entire site.

   Eventually the last one stuck to the beams pointed down. Vincent directed his crimson eyes to the dirt ground. Another arrow had been carved into the floor, pointing towards the start of the forest that surrounded the site. He stared at the row of thick trees knowingly. He could sense Cid close by.

   With the sun beating down on him and the fluffy white clouds floating pleasantly by, Vincent entered the forest, stepping off the hard dirt floor onto the soft leafy ground of grass and undergrowth. Several notes stood out on tree trunks as he passed, close together, leading him further into the forest. Dappled sunlight broke through the canopy of leaves, dotting him with spots of light.

   He knew he had arrived at his destination when he stepped into a clearing, having followed the arrows in a not-so-straight path. The area was shaded by trees, and almost perfectly circular. On the ground lay a smoothed-out blanket, and lounging on that was Cid, who was in the middle of pouring out a bottle of something bubbly. He caught Vincent’s eye and grinned.

   “Have fun?”

   Vincent approached him and stopped before the pilot. “I think that question should be directed at you,” the gunman replied lightly.

   “I did, yeah,” Cid shrugged good-natured like, and held out the second glass he had poured. He grinned in his charming, rugged way.

   Vincent hesitated before taking the glass. From it’s aroma he knew it was wine. He looked down at Cid. “I was half-expecting to find something like this at the end of those notes…”

   Cid cocked his head, still smiling, and pulled Vincent down to his knees. “Big disappointment?”

   The gunman pretended to consider this. “It depends,” he answered wryly.

   “Guess I gotta make sure you enjoy it, then,” the blond grinned, pushing his face forward to capture Vincent’s lips. He kissed him roughly, then took the man’s bottom lip in his teeth and sucked on it. When he parted he took pleasure in the sparkle that lit up Vincent’s unique eyes. Cid clinked their wine glasses. “Just us.”

   …And two bottles of alcohol along with a variety of foods. Vincent was quite approving of the thought that went into Cid’s little date. He’d chosen a peaceful location, and a rather interesting way of luring Vincent out there. It was fair to say his day hadn’t turned out uneventful like he had expected.

   “Did Shera do more than play her role as note?” Vincent asked, indicating the tasty range of savory and sweet items decked out neatly on either side of them.

   “I made these,” Cid told him proudly, putting his glass down next to him on a flat section of the blanket. He reached for a slice of flatbread, furnished with a wedge of meat and colorful toppings, and then handed it to Vincent before taking one himself. “Not bad in the kitchen, eh?”

   Vincent eyed the morsel and took an experimental bite from it. His tastes buds approved as he chewed slowly. He caught Cid watching him with a smile on his face. He was waiting for the verdict. Vincent swallowed.

   “Good,” he said, rolling the taste around his mouth. He realized the one bite had made him hungry, despite having eaten breakfast only half an hour ago. He wasn’t usually a glutton, but as he finished the rest of the bread he knew it was Cid’s fault for adding some of his favorite ingredients.

   “Think I should have brought some music to set the mood?” Cid asked lightly as he sat back against the tree behind him and chewed on his bread.

   Vincent relaxed back onto one arm and curled his knees, wine glass in his right hand. “Not if you wanted me to take you seriously.”

   Cid looked at him and grinned widely. “Don’t tell me that instrumental stuff don’t get yer hot. I’ve heard yer listening to it.”

   Vincent threw him a look. “For a broad-daylight picnic, I don’t think it would have the effect you were after.”

   “So… you’d like the mood if it was night time… in the bedroom?” Cid smirked, already plotting ideas.

   The gunman blinked mysteriously at him. “Depends…”

   The pilot grinned and half shook his head as he put his glass down and grabbed Vincent, dragging the man to him against his body. “Ever heard of ‘straight answers’?” He teased, locking his knees either side of the gunman.

   Vincent steadied his wine and relaxed his body against Cid’s firm chest. “I wouldn’t be me if I gave you straight answers.”

   Cid chuckled. “That’s damn true,” he agreed, threading his fingers through Vincent’s hair as he drained the rest of his drink. He preferred beer over wine, but since Vincent had more refined tastes, he could make do with any alcohol. Setting the glass down, he ran his free hand around the gunman’s chest and nudged Vincent’s ear with his nose. “I put an aphrodisiac in that wine…”

   Vincent froze in the middle of a sip.

   Cid grinned, pushing his cheek against the man’s bangs. “Just kiddin’.” He untangled his other hand from the long black hair and quickly got rid of Vincent’s cape, undoing the buckles and tossing it aside. It fluttered eerily to the ground without a sound. Cid took hold of Vincent’s shoulders through his leather and massaged them firmly. After a second of creasing the thick material, he said, “Why the hell do yer have to wear so much?”

   Vincent let his head hang slightly. The feeling of Cid’s hands squeezing his shoulders felt instantly wonderful. He had never had a massage before. “…I’m beginning to wonder that myself…” He said distantly, letting his mind dip into that strange realm of sleepy consciousness. Cid began unbuckling the top catches of his leather suit and Vincent helped him, using his good hand to undo the one below Cid’s. The clothing was pulled open to expose his neck and shoulders, and the massage began again. Vincent leaned completely against Cid, enjoying the pleasant sensations.

   Cid said nothing during his ministrations, wondering if Vincent had ever received this kind of attention before, in his Turk days. The thought made him jealous, so he wiped it from his mind and concentrated on the knots in Vincent’s shoulders. He kneaded them away, pressing his thumbs into the man’s trapezium muscles and working away the tension. He felt pleased at the grunt of pleasure from Vincent. Cid wasn’t being gentle, but his firm massaging was clearly chasing away the stiffness in the gunman’s body. He could feel every movement Vincent made through his hands, every inhale he took. Cid pushed the man’s long hair over his left shoulder and let his thumbs work up the column of Vincent’s pale neck. They bumped over the pronounced vertebrae in a repetitive motion, and slowed, eventually stopping. Cid brought his fingers across the prominent bones and trailed over them gently, slowly down to the top of the shoulder, where they dipped over and followed the line of Vincent’s collarbone. They fell teasingly along his sternum, tickling his ivory skin. Cid lifted his fingers up to touch the gunman’s chin, and Vincent flinched gently, having closed his eyes. He let them trace his bottom lip, and Cid could feel a small smile pull at it.

   “You know why I lured yer out here,” Cid said, more a statement than a question as he tilted Vincent’s face around and kissed him.

   “I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Vincent replied in a quiet, sensual voice, smirking faintly. He let himself be twisted half around for better access and found his eyes closing against the rough kisses he received. A second later his breath jarred as he was pushed prostrate on the blanket, with Cid pressing him down. Fingers fumbled with his belts and came across the notes sticking from them. He pulled them out.

   “Kept them with you in case you forgot?” Cid teased.

   “So I could shame you with their simple riddles,” Vincent corrected.

   The pilot’s smirk widened. “I just didn’t wanna wait ages for yer to show. I’ve got all day planned with you, me, and the floor.” He lowered his lips back onto Vincent’s as his hands tossed the paper notes away and returned to the belts. They were off a few seconds later, and the leather was pushed open further. Vincent’s belly jerked at the cool hands against his warm skin. Cid chuckled and stopped.

   “Undress,” he husked into the gunman’s ear, pulling away to give him room and to watch.

   Vincent eyed him, and Cid motioned with his eyebrows for him to do as he was told. Vincent hesitated a second further before complying. He undid the straps on his right forearm and pulled off the leather glove. It was dropped onto the blanket. With that gone he was able to slide out of his outfit, meeting short resistance at his gauntlet, and shimmied out of the body suit. It was kicked to his feet, and he leant back onto his arms and met Cid’s gaze. Gloriously naked and waiting.

   The pilot uttered an animalistic noise from his throat and crawled back over to his partner. He kissed and nipped his throat, pushing his lips against the smooth skin as a hand ran over Vincent’s chest, bumping over a pectoral muscle. Cid carefully pushed the man back down onto his back and hovered over his nude body. His groin throbbed, but it would have to wait. He settled himself on Vincent’s thighs, straddling the man as he leant over him. He ran his hands over the gunman’s chest, applying careful pressure as he began massaging his lover. He felt Vincent shift underneath him in response, and grinned as he continued, lavishing the pale torso with his strong ministrations. His hard touches seemed to unwind Vincent. He could feel his partner trying to relax, but he hadn’t done so in such a long time. His body automatically kept tensing. After a few second Cid chuckled.

   “Relax,” he drawled huskily, leaning down to breathe along Vincent’s neck. He shifted himself off Vincent’s thighs and parted them with his hands. The gunman let him, rolling his head to the side in the blanket as Cid slid in-between his legs and knelt under him. He held back a grunt as the course fabric pressed and undulated against his unclothed groin. Cid watched, enjoying Vincent’s reactions as much as the man was enjoying the body massage. Hands roamed pressingly down the gunman’s ribcage, thumbing the rippling muscles over and over. When he was satisfied, Cid slid his hands lower, kneading Vincent’s flat stomach. The body below him stretched leisurely in response, unable to relax due to the stimulus of the pilot’s touches. When the hands sank even further down, Vincent was unable to suppress a grunt. Cid smirked, watching his partner as he massaged the sensitive skin of Vincent’s navel. He let his hands work closely around the man’s genitals, teasing him. The desired affect was a buck of the hips and a groan that made Cid’s groin ache.

   To torment him further, Cid completely ignored Vincent’s subtle hints and rubbed his thighs firmly, gripping and squeezing the toned flesh, chasing away the tension in the muscles. He was earned another groan. Unable to resist, Cid lifted Vincent’s right leg and placed a kiss on the inside of his thigh. Then blew a stream of warm air along it. Vincent stretched again, more sharply. Cid grinned and continued down the man’s long legs. The massage ended with a generous foot rub that squeezed another noncommittal noise from the gunman’s parted lips.

   Satisfied, Cid ran his hands along Vincent’s body once again as a finish, cupping the man’s torso and bringing it up to meet his descending lips. He placed a kiss on his lover’s chest, taking pride in how boneless Vincent now seemed. He lowered the man back onto the blanket and laid over him, gazing down at those drowsy red eyes.

   “That feel good?” Cid asked as he pressed his lips against the soft skin below a cheekbone.

   Vincent inhaled audibly. “Mmm…”

   Cid let a single note of amusement cluck free. “Don’t fall asleep… I haven’t finished with yer yet.” He took Vincent’s lips in a kiss which parted with a satisfying smack, and then began to undress himself, joining Vincent in the state of nudity. His clothes were thrown to the side, piled against a tree trunk. He didn’t even notice that the cape was settled some three feet from where it had originally landed, ragged edges fluttering gently in a non-existent breeze.

   When Cid was finished undressing he planted his lips back over the gunman’s, pleased to find he had been watching the pilot undress. Both pairs of eyes slid closed as Cid climbed back on top, pressing their heated skins together. Cid broke their prolonged kiss. “Want a massage inside, too?”

   Vincent’s lips twitched into a sexy smile, a very clear affirmative to that question.

   With a response such as that, Cid couldn’t comply fast enough. He made short work of unraveling Vincent further, preparing him for a rough ride with a trio of lotion-coated fingers. Cid always took great pleasure sliding the first digit into Vincent’s warmth, enjoying the way the ring of muscles closed around him. It was that first act that always struck Cid as special; breaching Vincent’s body. It was his privilege to initiate things – something he took great pride in doing. He curled his fingers and wiggled them, enjoying the squirm of Vincent’s hips as he did so.

   “Mn,” Vincent grunted.

   Cid continued relentlessly, scraping his fingertips against the soft insides, wickedly teasing the man’s prostate until Vincent’s writhing became too stimulating. The pilot’s erection was aching, leaking against Vincent’s leg. Before he could decide to ease up on his lover, the gunman’s right hand grabbed his.

   “Cid…” he moaned, his voice a little breathless, but firm in his meaning.

   Cid grinned devilishly and pulled out his fingers slowly, savoring the feel of them slipping free. He picked up the bottle of lotion from where he’d dropped it and took Vincent’s good hand in his. He squeezed a large glob onto the man’s palm, enjoying the curious gaze in those crimson beauties. He guided the hand to his erection.

   “Slick me up,” he said in a husky command.

   Vincent pause, his eyes on Cid’s. Then he took his partner in hand and slowly – teasingly – applied the lotion, dispersing it liberally along the pilot’s length. He eyed Cid’s reaction, finding pleasure from the parted lips and expression of contained heaven. His blue eyes had closed in tame bliss. Vincent smirked faintly. He gave a squeeze and it forced a moan from Cid, who jerked slightly. It seemed their positions had momentarily been reversed; Vincent now had Cid’s pleasure in his hands. Literally.

   “Damn, Vince…” Cid breathed erotically. “That’s enough.” He grabbed Vincent’s hand reluctantly and pulled it away. His erection protested angrily. He replaced his grimace with a smirk as the glassy shine to his eyes twinkled and began to clear. “I don’t wanna shoot anywhere but in you.”

   Vincent’s head lowered slightly, locking his gaze with Cid’s. It had become something of a ritual, to receive Cid’s release. Somehow it created the feeling of possession for both partners. Vincent found his fingers interlaced with his lover’s as he was pushed back down on the blanket. Cid moved over him, positioning himself between his legs. Vincent quelled his growing excitement and shifted his hips, giving Cid better access. He didn’t like to think he was addicted to sex, but Cid made love to him in such a way that he had come to crave it. With his superior composure no one would ever suspect. Occasionally he wondered if he shouldn’t do this with Cid so much. But… he didn’t seem capable of refusing the pilot. Perhaps with three male monsters and a demon sharing his body they had some blame in his desires. He wanted to think so.

   His thoughts were halted, as often they were by his partner (he thought a lot), when a blunt force pushed past his sphincter. Vincent relaxed his body and Cid was able to slide his length inside with minimal effort. They shared a few, adjusting seconds together, breathing audibly as their arousals began to strengthen.

   “We aint got any neighbors out here,” Cid said as he pressed his body into Vincent, “so I want yer to moan and gasp as loud as yer can.” He grinned. And then bucked his hips.

   Vincent grunted, allowing his head to fall limply back as Cid began withdrawing tantalizingly slow before sliding deep inside him. The gunman felt every contour, every vein, every detail as his lover’s length sank slowly into him. His hips writhed leisurely, erotically, as they met the increasing thrusts, bellies meetings, hips nudging. The blanket beneath them creased a little but the grass below gripped it far better than the mattress did the bed sheets. It rumbled but otherwise remained smoothed out over the clearing. It was certainly comfortable for Vincent’s back.

   Cid groaned in passion as he pressed ever closer. He slid an arm under Vincent’s body and shuffled them up against the tree, nestling his partner in his lap as he began to nudge upwards into his lover’s body. The position was slower and restricted, but pleasant all the same. The tree was rougher than the blanket, but Vincent didn’t complain. He could handle it. In fact, he could barely feel it.

   They caught each other’s eyes and watched, unable to break their link. Something tingled throughout Cid as those crimson irises looked back at him as though they were connected through an invisible link. Cid broke that link to nuzzle Vincent’s neck, knowing the man could stare at him all day. He pressed his lips and nose into the crook of the gunman’s neck as it moved up and down, reaching for that crescendo of pleasure that would end them both. Striking just right, Cid groaned in bliss as the tightness around him became unbearable. White hot bliss surged past his eyeballs, and before he knew it his mind was drowning in an almost painful heaven. He shuddered hard and released, ejaculating thick, hot semen into his partner’s writhing body. Vincent’s body followed suit immediately after, coming onto his own chest. Breathing hard, they regained their regular pattern in silence, enjoying the pleasant feelings pumping through their veins.

   A hand ran through Cid’s hair slowly, tenderly, ruffling the soft spikes in a comforting fashion. Cid hummed his approval, feelings of sleep tugged at his mind, brought on by the action. He nibbled on Vincent’s shoulder, sucking the sweaty skin.

   “Yer gonna have to stop that if yer want me lucid,” Cid mumbled. “I planned the whole day like this.”

   Vincent’s hand paused compliantly. “You astound me with your imaginative plans…” He teased.

   “Not complainin’, are yer?”

   “Not a chance…”

END



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