A Clean and Cool Cotton

"...um..eh...you know, if I'm INTERRUPTING something, I'll just leave and come back LATER when you're done doing...whatever..." Cid stood there, awkwardly looking down at the gunslinger as Vincent awkwardly looked back up at the pilot. Cid had his hands up, partially to show any kind of surrender, partially so he could slam the door shut if he had top run out of the room dodging bullets. Vincent didn't move at first, but when he started to sit up Cid turned around to walk back out of the door. He was about halfway out of the door when he heard the bed creak behind him and a blunt, hard end of something press against the back of his head. Cid stiffened, a breath hitchhing in his throat as his eyes widened. Soft footsteps behind him told him his worse fears were confirmed- Vincent had jumped off of the bed, gotten behind him and now had the end of his larger than normal gun pressed against his head. Great.



"Take off the shirt."



Cid blinked, wondering if he had heard right. He tried to turn around to look at Vincent, only to have the end of the gun press harder, making him quickly return to face the doorway. "What do you mean?"



There was another click of the safety releasing behind him as Vincent tugged at his white shirt. "Did I stutter."



"No sir." His answer was as prompt as Vincent expected it to be, and it made the gunslinger smile slightly, which was funny because Vincent was in no mood whatsoever to be smiling. The pilot had just walked in on him totally exposed and vunderable, his face red and breathing harder from the rush he was in. Vincent silently cursed himself. Fool- his first instinct should have been to lock the door right after he came in, if not to buy him extra time to dress than to at least come up with a better response than this. A calculated response: turning on the water as if to take a shower, pull up the bedcovers and get in like he were sleeping, anything else would have gone off better than resorting to threats. Oh Well, Turk rule number 23; When in doubt, pull the gun out.



He watched as Cid slowly unbottoned the shirt and slipped it off of his frame, still holding it in his left hand after it was off. Vincent was about to open his mouth to speak until something about the shorter man caught his attention. His back. Cid had...well, to put it simply, an even more shapely body than Vincent had guessed before. If the pilot had any amount of skin that didn't have muscle underneath it, he definatly didn't have it where you couldn't see it. The bones of his shoulder blades were obvious, dipping down into the fine curve of his spine. The deep line running down his back into his pants had obvious musculature that told of hard work, and his sklin was every bit of bronze as Vincent thought it was. It was even freckled at the shoulders. Vincent tore his eyes away from it and focused them instead on the back of Cid's head. "Now give me the shirt." He watched as Cid brought his arm up, one just as muscular as his back (did the man secretly WORK OUT when no one watched?!), handing the shirt back to Vincent.



The gunman snatched it away and took a step back, taking the gun off of Cid's head. "Now walk out of here and go back to whatever it is you were doing. You speak of this incident to NO ONE, or next time I see you I will shoot you where you stand, understand?" He waited for Cid to nod before he placed a hand on the back of the pilot's neck and shoved him out of the door, slamming it shut behind the shorter man before locking it and leaning against it, the prized shirt still firmly clutched in his left hand.

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WHAT..THE FUCK...WAS THAT?! He was just going to CALMLY walk out of the room to give the man his privacy, and the next thing he knew he had a fucking GUN pressed against his head! And to top off the weirdness, al Vincent wanted was his..shirt. THAT made NO sense. Or maybe it did, seeing as how Cid had walked in on the Wutaiian trying to inhale the fabric to make the scent a permanent memory. Now cid stood there in half dry swimming trunks and sandles, the jeans he had dropped when he'd opened the door still inside the room. He turned and tried to knob- locked. That figured. He sighed and put his hands on his hips, turning back to look down the empty hotel hallway for a moment before he decided he might as well go back to the beach instead of just standing there with his thumb up his ass.



The trip back down to the beach was..interesting. Without his shirt all he could do now was let the sun beat down on him, bleaching his already sandy blonde hair even more and tanning his already tanned skin. He thought as he walked- not so much about what had just happened so much as what kind of possibly beleivable explanation he was going to give the others when he got back down to the beach. He wasn't allowed to speak about what happened...not that anyone would believe him, anyway. Cid shook his head, smiling to himself. Still, the memory of seeing mr. usually-calm-cool-and-collected red face, wide eyes and half dressed was still an amusing thought.



"I take it vampy still said no?"



cid looked up from his musings, anaware that he had walked down the steps leading to the beach and straight to the others still in the water without even thinking about it. Barett stood there, arms crossed and scowling as he lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Cid to answer him. "Huh?..Ah no, you were pretty much right 'bout not wantin' to come down, Barett. Answer was the same as before. He's holed up in the room, sulkin' as usual."



"Hmmph. Thought so." Barett stared at Cid for a moment before he blinked and unfolded his arms. "What happened to that shirt you were wearing? Ah know you didn't leave it at the hotel 'cause you don't like walking round with just your shorts on. 'swhat you said, anyways."



"OHH..funny thing, that. I um..." Cid ran a hand through his hair as he thought fast. Barett may be a big lug, but what wasn't was stupid. "Stopped t' get a drink at one of the stands. Walkin' to the hotel and some punk kid runs right into me and knocks it all over my goddam shirt! Had no choice but t' take it off back at the room n' let it soak, ya know?"



"Damn kids ain't got no respect these days." Barett huffed and crossed his arms again, looking back out at Yuffie and Tifa batting a beach ball back and forth to each other in the water.



Cid inwardly sighed and sat down in one of the beach chairs, placing an arm over his eyes as he leaned back. "I hear ya, buddy. I hear ya."

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He had finally gotten it. Sure, getting it had required a little bit of embaressment sure to haunt him for at least a week and threat, but he had finally gotten it. Vincent sat down on the bed again, laying his gun back down on the nightstand as he examined the shirt. Thankfully between the time Cid initially left and now, nothing had happned to it. He brought his well eanred prize up to his face and took a well earned sniff....then took another one, deeper. That musky, spicy and enigmatic smell that was there before was stronger now, especially around the collar. Vincent stared at the area, searching for any possiblity of some spray marks or cologne residue. When he spotted none his eyes flitted over to the pilot's still open duffel bag, one detail he was glad Cid wasn't sharp enough to have caught. Maybe there was some kind of clue in there as to what it could be from.



Vincent stood, and with an inward shrug slipped the shirt on as he walked over to the other bed and sat down. He might as well use the garmet for its purpose if he was going to keep it (and he WAS going to keep it). He opened Cid's duffel bag, pushing clothes aside as he searched the bottom of it for anything. He found the pilot's deoderant, which though pleasent enough wasn't the scent he was looking for. Vincent's face quickly developed into a scowl. Nothing. There was nothing else. No cologne, no body wash, no sort of shampoo or conditioner, no hair gel NOTHING. Just clothes, a few dirty ones at that. He started putting the clothes he had to pull out away, grabbing the shirt Cid had pulled off before he had donned the white one. It was slightly stained and in need of washing, but as Vincent went to stuff it back in the bag his arm screeched to a stop halfway.



It was there, lingering in the air right in front of his nose and not too far away. The scent, the mystery smell, and it came from the shirt Vincent was currently holding in his hand. He brought the blue peice of clothing up to his face, sniffed experimently...then closed his eyes and inhaled. He had found it, and a strong source of it, right there. But it made no sense. If Cid owned no cologne, shampoo, not even deoderant with that smell, it HAD to come from somewhere. Vincent frowned a bit as he thought about it, his hands clawing the fabric a bit as he did.



Then he groaned, then he frowned and opened his eyes. Not from a cologne, not from a shampoo or deoderant. The dirtiest shirt in the bag smelled the strongest of it, one that had been worked and more than likely sweat in. The smell wasn't artificial in any way. It was Cid. The smell was ALL Cid.



And now that he knew THAT, all he had to do now was figure out exactly HOW he was going to get it.

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AN- sorry about the excruciuating long wait for an update. Life does that sometimes.