All of Us Monsters

Disclaimer:  I don't own SquareEnix or any of their Squaresoft
characters.  I don't own Advent Children, or else I would be rich.  I
don't own Cloud, Fenrir (his bike), Vincent, or any of Cloud's many many many
swords.

Author's Notes:  Tons of spoilers.  For those of you who
have seen the movie, you might understand where this could be coming from. 
I've recieved lots of good words for this on the Livejournal Community acfiction.

Chapter 2

Our kiss, forbidden, seemed brushed beneath the primordial rug of denial;
Cloud said nothing of it when we had obtained a few hours of quiet sleep in the
early dawn. I did not bring it up once when we traveled further to a small
settlement near the ocean just west of Kalm.  The tangy scent of the ocean
- I had missed it a little, but I still favored the quiet waters of the Sleeping
Forest and the City of the Ancients and my bright, lonely immutable moon.

We traveled together in the night without once acknowledging my secret.  I
saw no point in trying to hide my presence from him if he had always known I was
there.  Somehow that thought both comforted and brought me ill at ease. 
Being so careless, following so closely, perhaps I had lost my touch completely. 
Or maybe he hadn't known at all and simply led my answer along by believing he
did.

My arms grasped around his waist coolly, and we veritably flew across the
nightscape until we were almost flying. I had never known a motorcycle could be
quite like that. His hair never quite bothered my face as well. My blonde angel
warrior had, after an hour of debate, allowed me to adjoin with him on his
journeys to make sure that nothing like his previous accident ever happened
again.

The following night, under a crisp waning moon following the full moon from the
night before, Cloud Strife sat up awake in the firelight with a slightly
attentive gleam to his eyes that made the glow in them intensify, that
attention-grabbing Mako glow.  I tried not to stare (and failed) as I sat with my back
against the tree stump next to where I was sitting. He was checking his messages with
his phone tucked against his ear while he started a small fire, his breath
vaporizing in the oppressive cold.

I listened to the tinny voices caress teh night as the messages played through,
watched as the fire sparked and caught in the dry grass, and finally flared into
existence with one final, energetic strike of flint to metal.

Cloud then fidgeted with his phone. He was dialing a number. Intrigued, I
watched him in the growing firelight as he tilted his head again, and spoke
quietly.

"Yeah... This is Cloud Strife. I'm calling you back to answer your call. I think
I'm in your area... You said something about a monster?"

The phone beeped and he hung up, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes met mine and
he held up his hands slightly with slightly defensive posturing. "I know, I'm just a delivery man. But I keep getting this
distress call from the same guy for the past half day..."

"You plan to go tomorrow morning?"

"As soon as I can, yeah. But you look tired. You should sleep."

His concern touched me quite a bit, but I said nothing of it, merely nodded with
an assenting grunt of acknowledgment. 
Cloud brought out the bedroll from some unseen compartment on his motorcycle,
only one lonely well-loved roll of blanket and warmth that probably wasn't warm
at all. The vehicle had suffered minimal
damage after the crash, and its surfaces were pock-marked with dents. To take on
this job might bring him an instant boost of revenue in order to make the
necessary repairs. While I watched Cloud spread the roll onto the ground, the
flames' heat tickled at my frozen limbs.

"I offer my help to you," I said quietly. "For tomorrow's job."

Cloud raised his glowing Mako-infused eyes toward me. My statement seemed to
have caught him off guard. By silent consent, we agreed not to draw our kiss
into discussion. But it seemed the memory took hold of him, and his cheeks
flushed until there were two striking spots of red on his cheeks. He held onto
his arm and looked away.

"Thank you."

I looked up again. He had turned away from me and was arranging his swords on
the ground, checking them over in silence, legs crossed, bent like a
cartographer over a detailed map. When he was satisfied the many hooked-together
weapons were well, he placed them back into the bike. I tried to make sense of
their arrangement, for he seemed to want to place them in a particular order on
each side of the sword carriages. After awhile, I ceased my careful scrutiny of
his work and found solace merely watching the flames dance and curl against the
shadows.

"Why can't you sleep at an Inn?" I asked suddenly.

"Do you think someone would let me sleep there if they knew...?" Cloud replied
coldly. "I don't sleep at places where people might recognize me or know who I
am. I don't want something to happen to me in the middle of a crowd. Or someone
barging in if I wake everyone up--"

"I see." Of course I did not see at all. But I recognized where Cloud appeared
to be going with this. His kept his beautiful eyes away from me as he walked
back to the fire and slowly stretched out on his warm bedroll, his arms sliding
back underneath his head in that familiar boy-like way.

"Tomorrow night, we'll sleep at the Inn," he said.

I stood up slowly, feeling the heavy weight of my limbs as though for the first
time. I was tired. We'd been driving all day... and somehow that was more taxing
on my energy than gliding with my own power. I said nothing, but patiently
waited for him to continue.

"You'll be there. I won't have to be afraid." His voice was low, tiny. Almost as
if he was somewhat loathe to bring voice to his fears of abandonment; it was
really he who was throwing away his old ties with his family... and I knew then
that he was aware of his short time in life, that soon Geostigma would take him
as it had taken so many others already.

He did not allow me the sight of his beautiful face, quietly insisting to keep
it hidden beyond the high collar of his sweater. I fought the urge to step
around the fire and hold him. I gave up the fight in the end. Bringing myself
toward him was the easiest part. But crouching near him, touching his
Geostigmatic arm, and hearing him utter a strangled sob was utter torment next
to the agony of my monstrous transformations.

With hard, desperate arms, he pulled on me and brought me close. I all but fell
next to him, and he buried his face in my cloak and cried. Slowly, at first, but
surely sobs began to wrack his body and everything that he had been locking so
selfishly inside of him came out upon me. His hands gripped my upper arms hard,
as if relishing in the pain they could cause. He sobbed and cursed and hit my
shoulder; I took all of these things without a word. His voice rose and he
wailed finally, until he was still and all the pain, all the malign tremors left
his body.

"Jesus," he mumbled softly. He sniffed loudly. I reached into my cloak for the
bandages again. I tore off some, and he mumbled a thank you as he turned away,
clearing his massively stuffy nose.

I rested my claw gently between his shoulderblades. He bent forward with his
arms leaning across his legs.

"Hold me," I heard him say. "I know you want to. I'm not going to ask every
time."

"Cloud, I--" I moved toward him again, pulled him close. He rested his head
against my chest, and it was warm with him there, his body against mine, his leg
sliding across both of my own. My words died.

Once again, I held him while he slept, and the night wore on while I pondered
our next night together, and what it might portend.

<hr>

That following day we rode together again. To the outskirts of the village we
drove, down a long winding dirt road through tan stone monoliths carved out of
the destruction of WEAPON when it had nearly made landfall. The village was only
a small settlement of villagers.

But it was much more than just villagers. It was primarily orphans. Grim-faced
children of dirty, salty fisherfolk. Geostigma everywhere. There were scars on
their naked legs and arms, and their hair was stringy with the salty sea. Almost
every day they must have spent trying to wash away the filth of Geostigma and
forget their cares as the adults tried to scratch a living from the bottom of
the ocean.

Cloud parked near the village sign, which declared the unimaginative name
"Seaside Vilage" with improper spelling. The little village, built of drift wood
and scrap metal, was swarming with children loitering in doorways or standing in
the one long street, playing. The village was clean, of course, but it felt
sucked dry of life and the every-day activity of a normal seaside dwelling. The
warrior's face, what little I could see, was filled with an equally grim stare
expressing sadness and anxiety.

Why did they stay here? I wondered, as he did. Their pale faces watched us as I
stepped off first; the warm engine ticked quietly in the silence. We must have
appeared two very incomplete halves of the same coin.

Cloud was apparently waiting for something. And then it came in the form of a
seventeen or eighteen year old young man. He had long blonde hair, somewhat
spikey, that was not too different from Cloud's hair, which was more or less
lighter than the boy's. The young man's attire was better than most, and I at
once tagged him from his stature and the hard-eyed glare he sent my way that he
led the children when the adults were at sea.

"You Strife?" the young man said gruffly, jerking his head at Cloud.

"Yeah," Cloud said, equally gruff with him, his eyes hardening to blue orbs,
gleaming points of focus and intent. "You must be Ran."

"Who's that?" the boy-leader Ran demanded. This time he swiveled a pair of hard
grey eyes upon me. I remained stoic, merely meeting his gaze with my own. He
quickly noted the color of my unearthly eyes, and looked away.

"That's Vincent. He's going to give me a hand today. If you got a problem, I
have enough gas to turn around and leave this shithole," Cloud growled, his eyes
widening as he took in the lot of children. "I didn't have to drive all the way
out here. I'm just a delivery man."

"That's not true," said a tiny voice in a distinctly foreign accent. "You the
man what killed de Bad Man."

"Yeah!" "He the one!"

Cloud bristled a little uncomfortably from all this recognition. I felt a little
pity for him, knowing he was the type of man to remain as anonymous as possible.
I also knew that he felt no pride in his saving the world, that he gave almost
all of the credit to the one who had died for us all, to summon Holy's power to
stop Sephiroth's plot.

"You guys must be tired," Ran said quietly; I noted his softer tone with
amusement. Cloud looked away, but he was listening keenly. "You want sleep?
There's the Inn over there. Don't worry about privacy - it's the best building
in the village, with stone walls and everything."

Cloud nodded, and followed the young man's directions to the Inn. I walked
alongside the motorcycle as he moved it down the one narrow street to the large,
two-story building that seemed to be the center of activity. There were two
other buildings squatting alongside it made of jagged, nailed-together lengths
of metal.

For the first time, Cloud was met by an adult. The motorcycle was safe enough
parked in the tiny garage.

I remained outside, afraid to follow him into the hotel room. By unspoken
agreement, I would not arrive until it was night. I was hungry and weak;
somewhere inside of me a dark, ugly thing was awakening. I couldn't remain here.

I left "Seaside Vilage" without a word except to Cloud that I would return most
definitely before bed.

Then I was free to the twilight. I revelled in the rushing wind that held the
salty tang of the sea; the freedom of soaring while tempting my strength; flying
out across the sunset ocean and returning again before I lost momentum. A fog
was rolling in quickly from the sea; a sharp cold bit at me through the layers
of clothes I laid on. Soon it was dark, but I wanted to wait a few moments
longer and think.

I sat quietly with my knees drawn to my chin, staring as the fog shifted and
moved, a white silken creature that slowly curled up against the cheek of night
with a gently sighing wind. Peaceful, serene, the thoughts of Cloud and his
persistence, his need, his tortured eyes. I closed my eyes; I saw him sitting
against the light of the fire, quiet, pensive, vulnerable. When I strived to
remember what his lips felt like, I was sad that I could barely remember.

When that revelation came, I rose to my feet, and began the lonely journey back
to the village.

I entered the room slowly. It was well-furnished and uncharacteristically
beautiful with oriental rugs, paintings whose warm oils were protected by some
fishermen substance against the oxidizing air of the ocean. The beds had deep
red and blue comforters over feather mattresses and thickly stuffed blankets and
clean sheets.

It smelled clean, like flowers, and I saw the source - a vase of flowers on the
windowsill. Where did they get such beautiful flora? I thought.

I subconsciously remained in the shadows of the room. I veritably joined with
them, and quietly took in the scents and sights of the room, all the way up to
the silent ceiling fans turning the air slowly. I heard the running shower, and
looked toward the slightly ajar bathroom door.

I knew he left it open for me. I knew he wanted me to see him. Through the
distorted glass, I could still see the outline of his body as he stood with his
arms hugging himself. The water poured, hot and scalding, around his body and
made the glass almost impossible to see. But with my preternatural eyes, if I
strained them just right, I saw his skin, and the beautifully defined muscles
and legs and arms and the way he tilted his head to the side as the liquid
struck his throat. Ah, that throat...

My breath hitched, and with a great effort, I forced my eyes to look away.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, he emerged from the
bathroom in a black T-shirt and sweatpants that I had not known him to possess.
But then, I realized, he had to carry things with him for no man could look as
beautiful or clean without at least one shower every other day.

He stepped across the thickly carpetted floor. I was so naturally, absolutely
invisible in the dark that he hardly looked my way. He looked toward the closed
door, as if expecting to see me walk through. With a pause, he pursed his lips
and looked down again, sliding his body onto the bed, a luxurious sigh of
contentment escaping his lips. I noted the sword stuck halfway beneath
the mattress. Smart man.

His breathing slowed. It was a melodic, addictive sound, like the sound of the
wind, a sound I could never stop listening to.  I wished it would never
stop;  the terror that it would someday hadn't yet reached me. When it became slower, deeper, only then did I relinquish my hiding place
and step into the light.

I moved close to the bedside. He looked different at this angle, beautifully
normal and strangely inviting, as if his sleeping body invited me to crawl in
and steal his warmth. The enviroment
of the room seemed only to enhance the picturesque quality of the young man's
face, turned ever so slightly away, his arm cast lightly over his stomach. And
his throat so deliciously exposed... I could smell the shampoo he had used... My
hands twitched at my sides. Slowly I bent, leaning my weight and shifting it
ever so slowly onto the blankets near his side. I yearned for him; his breathing
never faltered. His chest rose and fell merely inches beneath mine.

His lips were barely a centimeter from my own. I watched his eyes, drunk with
exhiliration at my own daring.  I was doing something, not just
watching anymore, and it made me feel like God. "Cloud."

His eyelids fluttered. His head turned slightly. I instinctively followed his
movement, and breathed in his sweet, mint-scented breath. I wanted it, yearned
for it, thirsted, craved, breathed it...

"Mmmnh... Vincent..."

I snapped back to reality. His lips had moved, spoke my name. I was sure of it.
His eyes had opened for a fraction of a second before shutting, and again he
moved his head. Tipped his head back, and uttered a quiet moan. I watched,
transfixed, as his brow furrowed slightly.

He rolled his head to the side, and said again, almost desperately my name.
"Vincent."

My God.  He was having a dream about me.

I slowly raised myself. I watched the strangeness unfold. He pursed his lips,
and shifted himself slightly in his restless dreaming, his body tense. I lifted
my hand, as in a dream, and stroked his hair, slowly sinking my gloved fingers
through it. He responded; slowly, he turned his head, and with his singularly
pink tongue he licked the glove.

My heart gave a leap of joy and elation. But he kept working, reaching blindly
with his hand.  He bit into my glove gently with a confident air and
pulled.
It slid off, after I quickly manuevered to unbuckle the wrist. I stroked his hair again
with tingling, bare fingers, and this time he seemed pleased. He moaned
again, and a deeper, hungrier quality had taken root in his vocal chords.

The monster in me very much loved that voice. The carnal, the furtive growl that
I almost gave crawled up my throat and choked me for an instant.  I felt my
demon writhe and twist madly in a blatantly half-painful attempt to take me.
My heart pounded, and without warning I pressed closer again with desperation,
because he made it go away, and covered his
mouth with mine readily. He gave a start, but that was all, and he was
absolutely mine, the monster growling no more.

Gradually, Cloud awoke to me, and without a word he merely accepted his fantasy to
be just a part of his dream. Sprawled beside me as he was, I could only accept
this blessing in its truest form. I was so ingrained in his thoughts, I had
invaded his dreams. It was folly, perhaps, to encourage the fantasy. I kissed
him harder, earning myself another moan of pleasure. I touched his arms, his
chest, each kiss I gave him making him warmer and warmer, and my heart pound
faster and faster.

Gradually, I stopped, and his eyes opened and clarified. I had rid him mostly of
his obtrusive shirt. We looked at each other, and slowly a pink blush crawled
over his porcelaine white face.

I sat up on my knee. He watched in silent anticipation and overwhelming warmth
as I reached, and unbuckled the cloak around my shoulders, and let it fall to
the floor over the edge of the bed. Then, quietly, I unfixed the gunbelt around
hips and set it on the floor as well, followed by my shoulder holster and
finally my bandana. I brushed my fingers through my hair, and he watched it all
with gleaming eyes.

I reached for my shirt. It was at this point that Cloud could not sit by idly
and watch, for he sat up, and pulled me by the shirt collar on top of him. I
laid there, trapped between his warm, still clothed thighs and watched in mildly
lustful fascination as his fingers worked in heedless hurry at stubborn shirt
buttons. As soon as he had enough slack to push away the cloth, he did, and the
shock of his lips on my skin almost hurt like scalding water.

I shut my eyes, and uttered a quiet groan. His fingers worked expertly as his
tongue moved down, and I moved up, leaning over his mouth, that hot and hungry
mouth as he sucked and bit and tortured every bit of flesh it came across. I
shuddered and moaned his name. Suddenly I realized my shirt was at last undone
completely, and he pulled on my jeans, thrusting up with his hips while
simultaneously cupping my thigh and moaning at me.

Suddenly, the whole scenario seemed sickening, wrong, forced upon.  I
gave no indication, because I was for a few minutes happy so far, and I refused
to let old worries wear it away like sand paper on bone.

The resulting contact forced the surprised growl from my throat. His hands seemed
to go everywhere they should not have: my skin, which prickled at his cold
touch, or maybe I was feverish; my chest, my stomach, in my hair where he pulled
gently, crooning softly, please please, take me, Vin, please. He rubbed the steadily hardening organ
between my legs to underscore his need, gasping gently as I kissed him. 
His kiss was like the last, generous, warm and utterly unselfish.

Finally I brushed his
hand impatiently aside.

It was my turn.